


Merry Christmas, Bog King

by paintedskullfairy



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Magic, F/M, Falling In Love, Freeform, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedskullfairy/pseuds/paintedskullfairy
Summary: Marianne leads a life that most children and adults could only dream of, but there is only one wish she desperately wants to come true.Bog King also has a wish, but when he finds a young, mysterious woman in his garden who is suffering from amnesia, he realises that this Christmas will be one he never forgets.





	1. Chapter 1

Soft flakes of snow fluttered down from the air around her, the cold sensation stinging the tip of her nose, not that she cared. 

Cold never bothered her, for all the years she had lived here, with the permanent frosty landscape, she had climatized exceptionally well – so much so that she did not need a heavy coat or the woollen attire that normally accompanies it. Instead, Marianne stood, ankle deep in fresh snow, binoculars dangling around her neck. 

Not that she needed the binoculars as tonight the stars were shimmering; their tiny twinkling forms covering the vast darkness of the sky.  

Time drifted, much like the snow, around her and soon moments turned to minutes and so on. Marianne was lost, completely transfixed above her, silently waiting, inwardly praying.  

There was a myth she had heard the elves whisper amongst themselves as they drank their hot chocolates and passed around an assortment of Christmas themed treats, that if you waited long enough underneath the stars, one will whizz by and on it you could place your heart’s desire, your deepest wish and in turn for your patience, that dream will come true.  

Marianne had, for the longest time, toyed over whether she should make her dream come true. On one hand, she wanted to be like her legendary father, to travel and give something to the world that no one else could. On the other, she knew she couldn’t, she could never be her father because she was herself. 

There were tales told about her father, aged stories entwined with various traditions. His name was in lights across cities and in rural villages, his face was plastered onto an amalgamation of toys. Songs were sung in his honour and people tried and failed every year to mimic his infamous laugh. Marianne couldn’t see them doing the same for her, after all, Marianne Claus didn’t have the same ring to it.  

As the North Pole air picked up and the snowfall gradually became dense, Marianne refused to move, her determination keeping the warmth circling around her body as she continued to look above, blinking away the descending snowflakes. 

Then, a bright streak flushed the sky with a wondrous light, a tail made of pure brilliance sailed through the air, passing in just seconds. With an intake of breath, Marianne poured her heart's desire onto the shooting star and made a wish. 

  

~ 

 

Marianne heard the soft clink of porcelain against oak first, but she didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was her sister bringing her a warm morning beverage and to tell her like she had done every December since she could speak, how long it was until the fated day – Christmas.  

She grumbled a greeting, sleep still thick in her eyes and voice. 

“Come on sleepy head! Only a week until Christmas!” Dawn explained merrily. As Marianne came too, Dawn was peering out the frost paned glass, small piles of snow hugging the outside sills as if for ironic warmth. 

“Dad’s busy running through preparations today and mum’s baking as per usual, so I thought we could do something together?” Marianne’s younger sister asked whimsically. Marianne felt a twinge of guilt twist in her stomach, she couldn’t be with her sibling today.

Today, she was finally going to show her father what she could do.  

Her sister thankfully found company elsewhere, mainly with an elf named Sunny, who only seemed to light up when Dawn was near. The two wandered across the snowscape to partake in some festive gathering of some kind, potentially a rehearsal for the big day. While everything was quiet, Marianne slipped outside, satchel banging her leg as she jogged to her workshop – an old barn mostly used for storage of out-dated Christmas decorations for the village. 

As she pulled back the old doors, she was greeted with the familiar scent of dried fir trees and cinnamon, a smell that clung to the air no matter what the month. Using all her upper body strength, Marianne closed the doors, securing them with a bolt lock to make sure no one would disturb her.  

Making her way through the boxes of broken candy canes and butchered baubles, Marianne finally came to a long, obscurely-shaped rectangle hidden underneath a patchwork cloth. Clinging at the fabric, Marianne pulled swiftly, and smiled as the content’s underneath was revealed. 

It was a sleigh; her very own one that she had built completely from scratch. Parts had been ‘borrowed’ and made from taking apart the ornaments that adorned the rest of the barn. It was a whole years’ worth of planning and building and tonight it was ready for its first test flight. 

After a morning and afternoon of tinkering and fiddling, the sleigh was once again hidden, the next time the sheet would be pulled off, it would be a reveal that would show her father how capable she was. 

Tonight would be when her wish came true.  

  

~ 

  

The Claus family, elves, reindeer and festive creatures of all shapes and sizes were gathering by the Christmas tree that stood proudly in the centre of the village. The tinsel was long enough for the entire town to participate in a game of jump rope, the star bright enough to guide any lost soul home.  

Noticing that she was late for the festivities, Marianne ran back to change, freeing herself from her dirt ridden clothes in the process, switching them for something that would appease her family's merry spirits once she was inside. She left her satchel in the usual place, returning only a minute later to check it was not peaking out from underneath her bed.  

Her feet crashed into the snow as she ran, already late, over to the gathering. Her mother rolled her eyes at her daughter’s tardiness while her father barely acknowledged her arrival, too busy addressing the crowd.  

“Have I missed anything?” Marianne asked Dawn. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks as she used her cold fingertips to brush away some of the unruly strands that made up her short, untameable hairstyle.  

Dawn shook her head, causing the little, pale blue pom-pom attached to her knitted beanie to softly sway alongside the gesture. “There is said to be an announcement though.”  

Marianne waited alongside her sister on the small stage, initially listening to her father but soon her mind wandered off, imagining his proud reaction when he saw what she had been working on all this time.  

“Friends, Christmas will soon be upon us and as always there is much to do! While there are toys to be made, cookies to taste and reindeer to feed, my mind has been somewhat preoccupied. I am afraid, that this year will be my last.”  

A collective gasp of shock and dismay took the crowd, even Marianne herself was taken aback, even if she knew this was an inevitable stepping stone for her dream.  

“I am not going anywhere!” Father Christmas himself chuckled, his white coarse hairs looking like fine icicles in the light that emanated from the flashing Christmas bulbs. “But rather, I will be replaced.” 

Marianne’s heart skipped a beat.  

“I thought long and hard over who would be my idol successor, who saw Christmas the way I did, who could harness the magic and take someone who hated the holidays and turn them into a festive well-wisher. Thankfully, I have been blessed and found such a person, closer to home than I realised.” 

Excitement bubbled up inside Marianne, this was it, this was her moment. Her father continued to build up suspense and without even controlling her body, Marianne took a step forward, ready to accept the fate she worked and wished for. 

“Roland, could you come up here please?”  

Marianne stumbled, confused as to why the crowd were cheering for a tall, blonde elf who clearly loved not only himself but also the attention.  

“I, I don’t…” Marianne mumbled, but her words were lost in the celebratory chaos.  

After a few moments, her father gestured for the crowds to hush. “Now, you have to be a Claus to become ‘Santa’, I am well aware of this rule and that is why there is joint cause for celebration, not only for Christmas but also for a wedding!”  

The crowd erupted once more, and Marianne felt her throat go dry. 

Her father turned, slightly surprised to see his eldest daughter so close behind him, but nevertheless wrapped his arm in hers and pulled her forwards so that she was next to the blonde elf.  

Elves, much like the humans she had never interacted with, only read about, came in all shapes and sizes. In fact, they were identical to humans, aside from their pointed ears and eyes like raw gemstones. Roland was tall, his hair falling softly behind his elongated ears and his emerald eyes matched his suit.  

Marianne’s brain was still in shock from the previous announcement that she realised too late what was occurring. She felt her hand being lifted against her will, into Roland’s, his warm palm feeling foreign and wrong.  

“But I don’t want to get married.” Marianne whispered to her father, her voice barely audible. Marriage was the last thing on her mind.

Roland must have heard her as his smile twisted slightly at the corners, his eyes darting from her to the crowd and he continued to wave. 

“Marianne.” Her father warned sternly, still smiling however as all eyes were on them. 

“Why him? I thought… I worked so hard…” 

“What are you talking about?” Her father fixed his eyes on her now and she could feel his annoyance.  

“I thought you would choose me.”  

Her father laughed, the infamous ‘ho-ho-ho’ and Marianne could feel the fresh tears itch the corners of her eyes.  

“Marianne, being ‘Santa Claus’ isn’t a job for someone like you. Imagine if children wake up to find you filling their stockings, Marianne Christmas, ha!”  

“I built a sleigh.” Marianne said, the words tumbling out before she could organise them. 

“A sleigh?” Her father chuckled, “Marianne you aren’t to worry about those things. Your life is here and soon you’ll be married. Just think! This time next year you’ll be Mrs Claus and Roland will be ready to start his first year as the Christmas legend, won’t that be exciting!”  

“I don’t-” 

“Marianne, no, that is enough. Leave the sleigh building or whatever you were doing to the professionals.”  

“No, no, let me show you, please.” 

“Mari-” 

But Marianne was already off the small platform that separated her family from the rest of the North Pole’s small population. She was running towards the old barn, not bothering to check and see if they were following her – if not, they could simply watch as she flew overhead.  

With force she threw the tattered cloth to the floor as she powered the sleigh, the engine whirred to life, lights emanating from the dashboard she had designed. In homage to the lead reindeer that powered her father’s sleigh, she had a special designated red button that would cause the sleigh to start.  

Giddy with excitement, fear and a craving for acceptance, Marianne flung open the backdoors which faced a slope of snow – the perfect place to perform take offs. She readied herself behind the controls, feeling the weight of the wheel and gearstick (designs she had taken from a human movie about motorcars that Dawn had particularly enjoyed) and slammed her hand down on the red button.  

The sleigh began to move forward at a slow pace and then picked up speed until within a second it shot forward, catapulting down towards the slope. Marianne pulled back on the gear stick, feeling a weightlessness in her stomach. For a moment she thought it had failed, that she was hurtling through the air and would soon crash – her sleigh and dreams lying in wreck and ruin.  

As she opened her scrunched up eyes, she realised that she was gliding over a snowy landscape. Marianne let out a single laugh of relief and looked over the side to see the crowd move nearer the strange floating object in the sky. 

From below, she could make out her family’s figures. Her mother clutching to her father who stood bewildered. Dawn, being the sweetest being possibly on this planet, waved, a signal which Marianne felt in her heart.  

The sleigh sailed onwards, gradually getting height until it was able to skim the clouds that were now speckled across the sky. The experience of flight was a mixture of anxiety and pure joy that ran through Marianne’s body like individual lighting bolts. She wanted this, just to enjoy this freedom for a few minutes more before she had to land. 

But soon she lost sight of her village, and much like when she was gazing at stars, time did not exist for Marianne who simply stood still, letting the cold air softly play with her hair, the smell of freshness catching at her nose and the distant sound of geese honking as they flew up ahead.  

It was only when a loud noise startled her from her trance that she turned to see smoke spluttering out from the back of the sleigh, it’s black, dense fog not a good sign at all.  

Panic stung at her limbs as she checked all the emergency lights, all of which were now flashing, dazzling her eyes with their bright, inconstant beams. The sleigh itself began to wobble, unable to maintain flight. It dipped suddenly, taking Marianne off her feet and tilted. She managed to grab hold of the side, as her legs kicked freely underneath her – she dared not look what was below – be it land, sea or snow – none of it could be safe from such a height. 

Her muscles burned in her arms as she pulled herself upwards, using her weight to stable out the sleigh which was now attempting to align itself. The smoke was thicker now, and Marianne coughed as she flicked numerous switches. Her best bet was to try and land the sleigh, surely, she wasn’t that far from home.  

Marianne felt something hot tickle the back of her neck and as she turned, she was greeted with flames that were now sprouting from where the black smoke had originally emerged from. She didn’t have time to react as the engine exploded, catapulting her away from the now enflamed wreckage. Air whizzed past her as she fell, her body began to spin and before she knew it – she hit the ground.  


	2. Chapter 2

It never snowed come winter in the town of Faegrove. Without fail, each cold month the small, English town could rely on schools staying open and never have to worry about hiring gritter trucks to prepare the roads for icy conditions that would never come to pass.

That being said, with a week to go until Christmas, excitement still filled every corner of the town. The main street was decked out with lights, hanging from lamp posts and shop buildings and each store had its own personalised window display; mannequins wearing the seasons must haves from sparkling party dresses to costumes of Santa suits.   

As Bog manoeuvred his way through the town with a bottle of fairly expensive wine tucked under his arm, he felt nothing like the people who passed by him, smiles bright with upcoming anticipation for the Christmas holidays, infants whose eyes were filled with wonder and stressed parents who still had errands to tick off a hefty to-do list. 

Christmas just hadn’t been the same since Isla died. 

Isla had adored Christmas, she would pounce on him come the first of December thrusting an advent calendar in his face while she happily munched on her chocolate for breakfast. She was strict about decorating, abiding by the ‘twelve-day rule’, but as soon as she could their home would be covered with tinsel, holly and fake snow.

Bog, who had simply enjoyed the holiday as a way of being off work and a chance to spend more time with his merry wife, was more than happy for Isla to take control. He helped when he could, but no one could match the festive joy Isla emitted. She would throw open the doors Christmas day, inviting every family member she could think of, serving feast after feast until everyone had either left or fallen asleep from too much food. It was then she would curl up beside Bog, some television show playing in the background as they too nestled into slumber. 

But then, around five years ago, Isla got sick. So very sick, that even she couldn’t put up a facade for what was coming. 

Christmas would never be the same for Bog, no matter how much Isla wanted him to embrace the holiday. He had simply lost his Christmas spirit. Though he wasn’t a Scrooge, he did attempt to try and enjoy the Yuletide – this was why he was, at that moment, clutching a bottle while trekking across town to attend his sister-in-law's annual Christmas gathering.

He could hear the festivities even before he rang the doorbell. Paloma, his sister-in-law, who also went by the nickname of Plum, was almost as festive as her sister had been. From inside Bog could see people laughing and clinking their glasses together, Paloma’s husband was one of them. Padarn was a heavy-set man who worked outside of Faegrove, Isla had always thought fondly of her sister’s husband, so naturally, Bog did too. 

Bog pressed a gloved finger against the button that emitted a loud tune through the entire house, there was a small ruckus and the door opened, revealing Paloma. Her blonde hair was piled into a bun atop her head, a pale blue dress could be seen underneath an apron that was sprouting an amalgamation of stains. 

“Bog!” She cried, letting him pass and giving him a tight hug. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

“I’m not  _that_  late, am I?” Bog asked, checking his watch as he took his coat off. 

“Well, people stopped arriving an hour ago...” Paloma trailed off, “I just started to worry.” 

“Plum, there is no need to worry about me, I am a grown man.” He smiled, “Here, brought you something.” He handed her the bottle of wine and her face lit up.

“Is it bad if I save this for later?” It wasn’t a question, Bog knew very well she would save it for when the entourage had left, Paloma might have had similar levels of Christmas joy as Isla, but the whole thing stressed her out terribly – that and unlike Isla, she had a child to worry about. 

Finn came bounding down the stairs at that moment as if knowing the latecomer would be his uncle. He flung himself off the last step and Bog caught him mid-flight as if it was a practised dance routine. 

“Finn! You need to be more careful.” His mother groaned but the eight-year-old ignored her. 

“Are you coming to the play?” Finn asked, a tooth was missing from his smile and chocolate was smeared around his mouth. 

“Of course.” Bog replied, knowing full well how much his appearance would mean to the small lad. 

“Awh, that would be great.” Plum said, wiping away the chocolate from Finn’s mouth, much to his annoyance. “They are doing a ‘Rock N Roll’ Nativity this year.”

“Do the wise men get guitars?”

Finn nodded excitedly.

“But, Mr Mysterious here won’t tell us what part he’s playing, I can’t even guess from the costume I’ve been instructed by the PTA to make.” 

“It’s a surprise!” Finn exclaimed though Bog could see the glint in his eye that he was craving to tell someone. Bog reached down and ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“Well, I look forward to the big reveal.” 

~

The party was still in full swing while Bog took a breather outside. The air was cold and the wind had picked up since he was last in the open, it rustled his short hair and the remaining flowers that fought against the temperature in the flower beds of which Padarn was so proud of.

Bog looked upwards as he shivered underneath his thick jumper and shirt. Though the night was so cold, there was not a cloud in sight in the immense sky overhead. The stars shone as he glanced up, each one more bedazzling than the other. Isla would have referred to this picturesque scene as simply 'magic'. Rainbows, thunderstorms, and summer days when, for a glorious moment, the sky opened and rain cascaded down, had all magical to her. 

Bog sighed with a heavy heart and continued to watch the stars for a moment longer. 

He had no intention to stay outside for as long as he did, and as he turned to go, he caught sight of something streaking across the sky. 

Bog hadn’t seen a shooting star since he was a child, when he had used his dad's telescope to spot the different planets for a school science project. He couldn’t remember much of the experience, but he knew the star he saw then certainly wasn’t as bright or as wonderful as this one. 

It seemed huge as if something had caught fire and was hurtling through the sky, the reds and ambers looked like dancing flames that twirled off to create the star’s tail. 

As it whizzed overhead, Bog didn’t utter the words, but he spoke them with his heart, he made a wish that he could learn to love Christmas like he used to do.

“Bog?” Plum called, her cheeks flushed and apron now gone. “We are going to play charades! Finn wants you on his team!!” 

With one last look up to the sky, Bog headed inside, warming himself up by the fire while miming 'Christmas Carol' alongside a bubbly eight-year-old who was solely running on chocolate treats. It was moments like this, especially during this time of year, that kept Bog afloat. 

~

As the clock chimed midnight, Bog was fast asleep; the few drinks Plum had offered him had helped send him off, the alcohol warm in his stomach. 

The minute hand softly swirled around the clock face, the second hand passing as the night drifted on until it hit 5 am and an almighty crash woke Bog from his slumber. 

He jumped upright, his eyes barely adjusting to the gloom, as first he thought he imagined it, and then in the distance heard another crash this time much fainter than the first. 

Fearful it was a burglar, Bog donned sensible shoes knowing full well that slippers were not 'fight-worthy', and wrapped a warm dressing gown around himself to fend off the morning’s chill. Switching on the lights, Bog first checked all the rooms on the upper floor, before grabbing an umbrella from the upstairs cupboard and making his way downstairs. With umbrella in hand, Bog repeated the process of checking each individual room, until he was certain no one but him was in his home. 

Bog groaned as he looked at the clock that was hung next to the wall calendar in his kitchen and with the knowledge that falling back asleep would be a tricky endeavour for him, Bog decided to start his day and prepare for work. 

He had worked for the local paper for as long as he could remember, aside from writings which he sent off to various publishers and papers, it acted as his main source of income. His boss, Thomas, had become a close friend over the years they had worked together, closer still when Isla passed away. Thomas and his wife Stephanie continued to invite Bog every year to Christmas dinner at theirs, and each year Bog would politely refuse. 

As Bog heated up water in the kettle, watching the bubbles form for a minute or so, he reached for a mug in which to create a morning brew that would helpfully keep him awake until another coffee later on that day. Bog mixed granules with hot water and milk, watching the mixture swirl as he moved the teaspoon with precision and ease. When ready, he plucked the spoon out and threw it into the sink. 

It was then he caught sight of something in the garden. 

Bog put the mug down and peered through the blinds. The shape was large and it took Bog a second to realise the shape had limbs.

He sprung to the back door, flinging it wide open and running across the small patch of grass and kneeling by the shape, which now, in the luminescent lights of his neighbour's over the top Christmas decorations, he could see was human. 

Tenderly, Bog reached out and grabbed the shoulder, which under his icy cold hand felt delicate and fragile.

“Hello?” He called, “Hello? Can you hear me?” 

Bog looked around, trying to figure out where the hell the person came from. He could make out a red jumper, trousers and boots; perhaps party attire? Was someone drinking too much last night and decided to give themselves hypothermia by falling into his garden? But then Bog remembered the crash, could this of been the source of such a noise? 

He knew he had to check and see if the person was breathing. He prepared for the worse, he had dealt with death so personally before that he almost became numb to the idea in a bizarre way. He hoped, whoever this was, wasn’t dead – death is bad, but hundred times more painful at Christmas.

Gently he rolled the body over and was surprised to find a young woman’s face. Her hair framed her features as if the hair itself was a halo and from what Bog could see in the bad lighting, she had not yet turned blue. 

Bog pressed his ear to her mouth and watched for any signs of life, relief washing over him as he saw her chest rise and fall.

Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her back inside where at least she could warm up while he figured out what to do. He laid her on his sofa, pulling a thick blanket over her and resting it just below her chin. He took the coffee he had made and placed it on the table beside her, so when she did wake up, she could at least drink something.

He hesitated midway through punching in the number for the local police station on his mobile. He wondered how on earth would he actually explain the situation, and in today's world, it might come across as a bit too weird. That and the police were incredibly busy during the Christmas period regardless. 

Bog locked his phone and dropped it into his pocket, switching off the charger that lay beside his bed before heading back downstairs. As he passed the sofa where he had put the mysterious woman, he realised that the blanket had been thrown off and that the body was now gone. 

Alert and starting to panic, Bog moved through the house only to find the woman sitting at the kitchen table, the coffee he had left her was cupped between her hands. 

“Miss?” Bog called, somewhat concerned with how calm the woman was.

She looked up as if she hadn’t just appeared from anywhere, the only clue that she was ever outside being that her hair was sprouting out all over the place.

“Marianne.” She corrected as he took the seat opposite her, tying the knot tighter on his dressing gown as he attempted to digest the randomness of this encounter. 

“Marianne,” He started, speaking slow, “I found you in my garden – who, who are you?” 

“Marianne.” She repeated, and Bog worried for a moment if she had hit her head incredibly hard, “I already told you that.”

“No, no I mean, where did you come from?”

Marianne was about to answer, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' shape but then she hesitated. Her brow wrinkling in confusion. 

“I’m terribly sorry, but I am afraid I don’t remember a thing.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m sorry Mr King, but there have been no reports of a missing person and I already had someone check the local hospitals, etcetera, but nothing. We’ll try our best, but– realistically it isn’t looking good.” 

Bog sighed and thanked the police officer, before looking over his shoulder at the mysterious woman who he had found face down in his garden. Marianne had been checked over by a doctor and been given the all clear, aside from the potential trauma that had caused the amnesia. The doctor also performed substance tests but Marianne was clean, no traces of drugs or alcohol were in her system. When he had finished asking questions and nodding his head to her responses, the doctor had pulled Bog to one side, suggesting that she was of no danger to him what-so-ever and that having her so calm was a good thing. With it being Christmas, there was bound to be someone looking for her, but gloomily, even he acknowledged this was not always the case.

He suggested attempting to trigger memories, place certain objects around the house with impactful orders and colours, in an attempt to try and jog a memory loose. It wasn’t said, but Bog took that as a hint that the young woman would be in his care - for now.

Marianne, now seated in the police waiting area, was reading a magazine one of the female officers had lent her. She made an excited noise almost instantly as she turned over the page, raising both Bog’s and the police officer’s eyebrows. 

“Everything alright?” Bog asked, coming over and looking over her shoulder at the magazine. 

A full-page spread on how to cook the best turkey was depicted within the glossy pages, the buffet looked great and Bog realised how he hadn’t eaten yet – and neither had she.

“Hungry?” He inquired, Marianne flashed a smile and nodded eagerly in response. 

~

The Goblin had been Bog’s favourite pub for years now. He wasn’t a heavy drinker and didn’t even come in to the pub to taste alcoholic beverages, instead he preferred the atmosphere, the company. The Goblin always had a good number of patrons; the music was decent and the smell of ale and cooked food complimented each other perfectly; be it summer or winter. The Goblin had been his retreat for the first few months after Isla’s death, wishing to spend his lonely hours in a bar where he could talk to someone, rather than a home that held too many memories. 

It was his regular visits during those dark times that led to an unlikely friendship between him and the Pub’s landlady; Eliza. Eliza, a tall, broad woman with dark hair and dark eyes was intimidating in appearance, but tender at heart. Having lost her husband young, she knew the heartache Bog was going through and often would cook him something free of charge, just so she knew he was eating something at least. 

It was Eliza who greeted him that morning when he entered, as the bell rung overhead, with Marianne following close behind. The Goblin was nearly empty, aside from the devoted patrons who seemed to never leave. As Bog approached the bar, an old Irish Wolfhound raised its head but didn’t bark. 

“You’re a one of a kind guard dog Chip.” Bog said, bending down to rub the dog’s head.

“Ah! Bog, it’s a little early isn’t it?” Eliza asked, mockingly checking her watch. “I don’t mean to nag but shouldn’t you be at work? Thomas gets awfully flighty this time of year.”

Eliza had met Thomas when Bog suggested they used the pub to host their annual Christmas parties, Thomas who was normally a well-kept together man, had one too many whiskeys and proceeded to get on a table and belt out Mariah Carey’s Christmas hit. A hungover Thomas was very apologetic and expected a ban, but Eliza, who went to Kick-Boxing Pilates with Thomas’s wife, had thoroughly enjoyed the whole affair. 

Bog had phoned Thomas that morning, while he was taking Marianne down to the police station, but as he was unable to get through, he left a message with the receptionist, explaining that he wouldn’t be in work today as something had come up. Bog never took days off work and he was hardly ever sick, there was only one day in which he never phoned in or gave an explanation. Thomas had wanted a report that morning, and as Bog didn’t show, he drove over to his house to collect it in person, only to find a grieving man crying as his wife was carted out the house, a blanket covering her features. Since then, Thomas was wary, perhaps becoming the most understanding and kind boss anyone who worked in the business could ask for. 

As of yet, Bog had heard nothing from Thomas but tomorrow he would explain the whole scenario. Concerned about his career but also the young woman with no recollection of who she was, Bog had planned to ask for this week off, or until Marianne could remember something that would allow her to find her way home. He was fearful of leaving her alone, not because he didn’t trust her because surprisingly there was something about her eyes which hinted that she was of trustworthy character, but rather he felt he needed to look after her, after all, she had landed in  _his_  garden. 

“Already taken care of.” Bog responded, folding his arms on the bar’s countertop which thankfully had been wiped clean of any sticky residue found on the bottom of pint glasses. Marianne kneeled down, smitten with the dog, who now lay on his back, happily accepting the belly rubs Marianne was giving him. 

“Friend?” Eliza questioned with a smirk that lit up her black pupils. It was a similar look that Plum gave him when she stated she had a ‘friend’ who was just perfect, worked as a headmistress and was very much single.

“Long, long story. Can we get two breakfast specials please?” 

“Of course, anything for my favourite customer.” Eliza merrily went about her way, talking to the chef in the kitchen to make a hearty morning meal. As she wiped a festive tea towel along the inside of two large coffee mugs, she peered over the counter at Chip and Marianne. 

“He’ll let you do that for hours. What’s your name sweetheart?”

Marianne got to her feet, much to Chip’s disappointment. “Marianne.” She said with a smile. 

“I’m Eliza. You local? I haven’t seen you around before. I pride myself on being pretty good with faces.”

Marianne paled slightly, her brow creasing like it had done when Bog had asked her a question relating to herself. “Oh, erm, sorry I’m not, no, I don’t think so.”

Noting Marianne’s distress, Eliza smiled reassuringly, “not too worry dear, would you like some coffee?” 

As Marianne took residence by a window decorated to match the Christmas tree that nestled in the corner of the pub, coffee warming her hands and Chip warming her feet, Eliza turned to Bog and raised an eyebrow. 

“Is she... alright?” Eliza asked carefully, not wanting to offend. 

“She has amnesia.”

“You’re kidding!” 

“It wouldn’t be a very good joke.” 

“God, I thought that was only a bad plot device they used in romantic novels and sci-fi movies.”

“I would have thought so too, but I found her this morning face down in my back garden.”

Eliza’s eyes widened, “Oh my god, how long was she there for?! She could have died!”

“Not long,” Bog recalled, “I heard this massive crash and then, there she was.” 

“Now you mention it, a few of the regulars were saying they heard something like that last night. Do you think,” Eliza made darting eye movements to Marianne, “you know, that they are related?” 

“I don’t know.” Bog hadn’t entertained the possibility until now, “How can it though? A crash that loud and she has no injuries?”

“Aside from the amnesia.”

“Aside from the amnesia...” Bog nodded, “Maybe I should ask her about it?” 

“Just don’t overload her and maybe take her to the hospital.”

“Just came from the police station, they had a specialist look her over.”

“What did they say?”

“That she had amnesia.”

Eliza playfully hit Bog with the tea towel, “Not the doctor you dingus, the police. Surely, they have records in their computers or else what is the point of all the fancy technology?”

“There was nothing Eliza, no photographs that matched anything and a single name isn’t great to go on. They are still searching, but it was hinted that, since it’s Christmas, it’s my responsibility.”

“That’s not fair, not on you Bog. She can stay here and then maybe we can find somewhere like a hostel-”

“No. No, I’d rather have her stay with me.”

“Bog...” Eliza’s eyes flashed with worry.

“No need to worry about me Eliza, I am a grown man.”

Eliza sighed, “You say that far too often you know.”

~

Bog sat opposite Marianne as Eliza brought their food over. A variety of foods covered the plate, Bog noting that Eliza had clearly added extras, just in case Marianne was a fussy eater. 

For the first few minutes, they sat in silence, the only sounds being their cutlery cutting the food and Chip’s soft snores under the table. 

“Thank you.” Marianne said, breaking the silence that had seemingly engulfed them.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I was hungry too.”

“Not just the food, I heard you at the station, how if you hadn’t woken up and found me, well...”

“Best not think about that.” Bog offered, speaking from experience.

Marianne nodded, going back to cutting a piece of sausage and swirling it around in the beans that accompanied it. 

“I know you were bombarded with questions this morning, but I thought, to make this a little easier if I could ask you a few?”

“Sure, on one condition.”

“Oh?” Bog said, resting his fork on the plate. 

“I get to ask you some too, seems only fair since I don’t know anything about you either.”

Bog smirked, “that seems extremely fair. Would you like to go first?”

“Is your name really Bog?”

“Truthfully, it’s Bogaerd, but to everyone, I just go by Bog, makes life a hell of a lot easier. Ok, my turn,” Bog hesitated for a moment, wondering what would be a good question to start off with, something simple.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Marianne closed her eyes and concentrated, for a split moment, Bog worried that perhaps it had provoked a memory but as soon as she closed them, she opened her eyes and smiled, “a reddy-purple.”

“A ‘reddy-purple’?”

“Like a deep purple but has that hint of warmth in it. Basically, the colour of these cushions.”

“Did you like that colour before you sat down?”

“I sat down here  _because_  I liked the colour of the cushions. You asked two questions by the way.”

Bog sighed but smiled, she was keeping him on his toes alright, “ok, ok you can ask two questions to make up for it.”

“Alright, first one... erm, what is your favourite colour?”

“I already asked you that!”

“Does repeating a question not count?”

“It can do, but is that what you really want to know?”

Marianne hesitated, before letting her eyes wander to over where the Christmas tree was. Tinsel and fairy lights were gracefully tangled upon the fir’s branches, its sweet, festive scent filling the room. There was no colour scheme to the ornaments that were hanging from it, dotted about were aged baubles and modern motifs, but still a star clung to the top, it’s gold paint rubbed off at the edges, but nevertheless looked important and ethereal. 

“Have I... missed Christmas?” She asked, her voice a timid whisper.

“Missed Christmas? No, it's less than a week to go, six days to be exact.” 

Marianne turned back to face him, a small flicker of relief obvious in her expression. 

“Why did you ask that anyway?” 

“I... I really don’t know. It just felt like there was a part of me that understood that it was really important to know. I must admit I feel relieved that I haven’t missed it.” Marianne smiled sadly, “not that any of that helps us to figure out who I am, right?”

“On the contrary, you just remembered something, yes it’s not all there but hey, it’s something.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the morning was spent figuring out logistics since it was apparent Marianne would be staying with Bog until her memories came back, but thankfully the revelation and relief surrounding Christmas for her was a promising start. 

He had sent a message to Plum asking if she had some spare clothes he could borrow for a while. The realised without context, his sister-in-law might get the wrong idea, so he explained to simply meet with him after she finished work. 

Bog didn’t have any of Isla’s clothes anymore, as it was her wish that they were all donated to those less fortunate, who would love the garments as much as she had done. Since Plum had been a similar structure to her sister, and Marianne looked around the same shape, he hoped that she would be able to borrow her clothes, though he realised clothing was not his department of expertise. He had the same coat that had lasted for over a decade, the same with his worn leather brogues and trusty knitwear he pulled out every winter.

He had also stopped by the local supermarket to take on the doctor’s advice, exposing Marianne to scents, smells and sights that could make her recall anything that would be a hint to her identity. As they shopped, they talked more, continuing their game of question and answer. 

As they waltzed down the confectionary aisle, Marianne stopped short, a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Bog inquired, peering over Marianne’s shoulder to see her hands trembling as she held a box of assorted cakes.

“Are... are these made from real reindeer?” She asked, her breathing becoming slightly erratic.

“What?” Bog gently took the box from her and was about to laugh when he realised the state of shock and confusion she was in. It reminded him of when he was a young boy and his father had ordered ‘spotted dick’ pudding while out at a family gathering. 

“No,” He explained calmly, “It’s only cake, ingredients being...” He turned the packaging over, pointing to the small text on the side, “eggs, flour... no reindeer.” Marianne seemed to relax, her cheeks flushed with a glimmer of pink. “It’s a seasonal thing, marketing, to make you buy it because it’s Christmassy.” 

“That’s a relief.”

“May I ask why it would matter if they  _were_  made of reindeer?”

“I love reindeer.” Marianne explained, taking the box from Bog and placing it back onto the shelf, letting her gaze drift to the other confectionary treats that were stacked nearby. “Growing up they were there, they weren’t pets though, not really.”

Bog stopped short, mouth open in surprise at this revelation. 

“Marianne!” He exclaimed, a smile brimming on his face.

“Yes?” She asked, turning away from the jam tarts and swiss rolls. Then, as if she read his thoughts, she realised it too. 

“I remembered something!” She laughed, a soft little snort that seemed filled with excitement. At that moment, perhaps filled with joy that replaced the fear she had felt so strongly earlier that morning when she had awoken with no recollection of who she was or where she came from, she hugged Bog, pulling him into a tight embrace to which he almost dropped the basket of shopping. 

Pulling away quickly, Marianne inquired where to next, not taking another second to think about the act she just committed. Bog on the other hand couldn’t help but feel his chest twist a little tighter.

As they turned the corner, Marianne nearly collided with a small man, carrying at least half his body weight in digestive biscuits. A few packets fell from his grasp and with a heavy moan he tried and failed, to pick them up. Though Marianne happily obliged, gathering the cascaded packets with determination. 

“Thomas?” Bog asked, taking a few packets from Marianne so she could see over the small pile that now lay in her arms like a biscuit baby. 

“Bog? Bog!” Thomas cried, dropping the contents into a basket with much relief. “I got your message but I’ve been so busy this morning, Bruce ate all the office’s snacks and I’ve had fifteen adults complain about the lack of food, you would think they would bring pack lunches but  _nooooo_ , they simply cannot function without a bloody digestive.” 

He stopped his rant and eyed Marianne who, while he was raving, was simply placing packets of biscuits into his basket. She noticed his stare and held out her hand, which he took rather attentively. 

“I’m Marianne.”

“Thomas. Are you a friend of Bog’s?”

Marianne smiled, “I would like to think so. He is helping me recover from amnesia, he found me in his garden this morning – he saved my life.”

Thomas didn’t blink and looked to Bog who simply nodded.

“Right, well that explains the message.” He stumbled for the right words but was unable to find ones he could weave into a sentence. “I apologise, I’ve never met anyone who had amnesia, I thought it was just something they had for plot purposes in movies. God, Bog, you’re a hero.”

Bog shifted uncomfortable, “No, I’m really not.”

Thomas patted him affectionally on the shoulder, a gesture made awkward by the fact Thomas was a man of small structure, while Bog with his elongated limbs was well over six foot tall. “Bog, I understand that you have your hands full, do you need time off work? I ask because I can get a temp in to cover some of your shifts, maybe Bruce will stop eating the office biscuits enough to write up a few reports.”

“I could always work from home?” Bog suggested though he wondered if he could get work done with Marianne around, not that she was an annoyance, but rather a joy to watch, in regard to how she looked at everything with new found wonder and excitement. 

“Is this because of me?” Marianne asked later, when Thomas went off to pay for the mountain of baked treats that he had cleared off the shelves. “I didn’t mean to intrude or get in the way.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. You haven’t got in the way of anything Marianne, besides it’s not like you asked for any of this to happen.”

Bog was sweet but Marianne, with no memories except the ones she had made from the moment she awoke that morning on a sofa draped in a cosy blanket until walking along the path leading to Bog’s front door, couldn’t help but shake the feeling that maybe she did ask for this somehow. 

~

“Help me out with these boxes!” Plum cried as she opened the boot of her car, coats and jumpers spilling out and threating to fall onto the ground below.

Bog, who had just left Marianne sniffing a few scented candles that he brought in attempts to coax out a memory, bounded down the path and took a box from Plum who looked stressed and exhausted. 

“You would not believe the day I had,” She began to say as she reached for two black sacks that were tucked in tightly between shoppers and boxes. “Work was fine but then one of the kid’s mums decides to cancel Finn’s playdate last minute, so I’ve had to pick him up from school, which isn’t a problem, he’s such a good kid, but the issue is that I was going to wrap his presents tonight. Well, it’s supposed to be me AND Padarn, but that man cannot wrap to save his life.”

Plum continued to rant down the path, Finn running inside ahead of them much to the dismay of Bog who knew that the sudden surprise of a child might freak Marianne out. 

“So, I was wondering if I could be extremely cheeky and ask you to take care of Finn. It’ll only be a few hours but at least then I can break the back of the pile I have to work through, you never know Padarn might even be of use-”

“Plum,” Bog said, interrupting her. “That might be a bit of an issue.”

Plum didn’t get to ask why as Finn came to the door, Marianne standing behind him – each holding an unlit candle. 

~

“So, you find a woman in your garden, who has amnesia, the police are seemingly fine with having her stay with you and the only clues you have to find out who she is, is that she likes Christmas and potentially had pet reindeer?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“She could be a murderer.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I’ve seen enough crime shows to know you can never be too careful – oh god, she could be a murderer and I’ve left my son with her.”

“They are in the front room watching the Polar Express.”

Plum started to wave her arms about, a gesture she did to hide her utmost concern and oncoming waves of tears. “She can’t stay the night here, what if she kills you in your sleep? What if she is faking, or she steals something from your house to pay for drugs? You don’t have to take on the responsibility of looking after someone who could come with a heap of emotional baggage, why would you do this to yourself?”

“It’s what Isla would have done.”

Plum cried then, keeping her sniffles quiet so that Finn didn’t run in wondering what was wrong with mummy. Bog gave her a hug before handing her some kitchen roll to dry her eyes on.

“She would of, wouldn’t she? She was a saint like that. I was the one who always fretted and tried to plan everything down to finest detail but Isla, Isla just did what she believed to be right. God, I miss her so much.”

“Me too.”

Plum squeezed Bog’s arm, a tiny gesture that had started when they would meet at the end of Isla’s hospital bed when she had been heavily drugged with medication that was supposed to help but never did and continued, through the funeral and through the hardships that took place in the years that followed. 

“Okay, perhaps I overreacted, but I’m a mother, it’s in the job description. Speaking of which, does your mother know you have a strange woman living in your house? She’d love that.”

Bog gulped, Plum was right – Griselda would absolutely love the fact that Bog saved a woman and now she was residing in his home. 

“For now, best not to tell her.”

“She’ll find out Bog, she always does.” 

Bog sighed deeply, knowing just how true that statement was. 

“Anyway, let’s stress about one thing at a time.” Plum began, walking over and opening one of the black sacks she had placed on the chairs that sat in the kitchen. Inside were tops and trousers, skirts and blouses of all colours and shades. While Finn was left to watch the film’s ending, Marianne was called in to try on a few items, but not before Bog was dismissed from the room.

Plum had placed a few items to start off with on the table and encouraged Marianne to try them on, see what she liked and what she felt comfortable in. 

At first, Marianne was hesitant, but after Plum explained she was planning to donate them anyway, she obliged and fell in love with the textures and materials of the vast variety of clothing that had been hidden away in the plastic bags and cardboard boxes. 

In particular, she fell in love with a long skirt, with individual sequins sewn into the fabric so as she twirled, the light twirled with her causing rainbows of violets and lilacs to fall on the kitchen walls. 

“There is underwear in here as well – all clean and never been worn, just wanted to clarify that!” Plum giggled, digging around and pulling out a coat and matching hat. “Now, it may never snow in Faegrove, but it does get freezing, so you will be needing these.”

Marianne slipped her arms into the deep red coat, it’s trim was made of sheepskin and had a belt that could be used as an extra layer of security against the harsh elements. The hat was made of a different material, lighter to the touch but still featured the same red tone as the coat. 

“You look like a fashionable Father Christmas, perfect since it’s the season and all that jazz, oh hang on, pretty sure I have the most perfect shoes...” Plum trailed off as she dug deeper beneath jumpers, t-shirts and denim jeans until she pulled out two boots, crimson in colour, that sat just below Marianne’s knees.

She loved them.

Half an hour later, Plum had finally stopped fussing about outfits and decided it was better to let Marianne look over the clothes and see what she liked. 

“Come on Finn, time to go.” She called, pulling on her own winter attire.

“Aww really?” Finn said as he trudged into the hallway. “Can’t I stay a little longer?”

“No, we have to get home, your uncle is very busy already-”

“Plum, it’s no problem. Finn could stay for dinner.”

Finn’s sullen expression turned into one of glee as he looked from his uncle back to his mum, he didn’t have to plead with her, Plum was already considering this and the pile of unwrapped presents that awaited her at home.

“Bog?” She asked, looking to him to give her an answer, one she hoped would be a yes.

“Yes, of course, it’s fine. We can have pizza.”

“Pizza?!” Finn exclaimed.

“No Pizza.” Plum argued.

“What if it’s handmade?” Bog countered.

“Handmade is fine.”

“Handmade by Papa John’s” Bog whispered to his nephew who burst into a fit of giggles which he failed to hide from his mother who simply rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll pick him up at eight, thanks again Bog, you’re a life saver.” 

The three of them waved goodbye as the car pulled away from the pavement and disappeared as it turned the corner of the street.

That night they ordered and ate pizza, Marianne as equally excited as Finn as they both scooped their slices up and watched slowly as the cheese became thinner and thinner before breaking away from the other slices entirely. 

As the clock ticked onwards and eight o’clock dawned closer, Bog left to clear up, leaving Marianne and Finn alone watching an old Christmas classic that was in black and white.

“What did you wish for this Christmas?” Finn asked, turning to her.

Marianne lowered the volume and gave Finn her full attention, thinking carefully about what she was just asked.

“I think I might have asked for something, but I forgot what it was.”

“Does that upset you?”

“A little, but I’ll figure out what it was eventually.”

“How?”

“How will I figure it out?”

“Yeah, if you don’t know what it is, how will you know it’s happened?”

Marianne pondered this, knowing full well that the child was indeed right. For all she knew her wish could have been to be found in the garden by a handsome stranger and eat pizza with him and his nephew, though truthfully, she didn’t believe that was it.

“When a wish comes true, you feel it.” Marianne explained not knowing if this was true or not, but it felt right the more she spoke, “you just know.”

Finn nodded, taking in everything Marianne had just said.

“I’ve made a Christmas wish, I can’t tell you because then it won’t come true but it’s a good one.”

It was Marianne’s turn to nod, she was sure whatever this pure soul had wished for would be as good as he intended it to be. 

Finn continued, hugging a cushion from the sofa close to his chest. “I did have another one, but I didn’t want to be selfish.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish, may I ask what it was?”

Finn nodded, “Every year our school tells us that it has never snowed in Faegrove, except for one year and that was the year my mummy was my age. She said she played in the snow with Isla for hours until their parents called them back inside and made them drink hot chocolate. I wanted to wish for snow, so mummy could be just as happy again, even if it’s without Isla.”

“Who is Isla?” Marianne asked.

“Isla was mummy’s sister and Bog’s wife.”

“Bog’s wife?” Marianne echoed, feeling shock bubble up inside her stomach. 

“I was a baby when it happened, but mummy said she got sick, really sick and no doctor could help her get better. She died but, mummy always says that it's alright because angels belong in heaven after all.”

Marianne’s vision blurred and she had to blink away the tears in rapid succession so that Finn didn’t see her crying and wonder what he did wrong. She took his hands and smiled, “would you really like it to snow?” she asked.

Finn nodded enthusiastically. 

“Alright. Close your eyes, scrunch them tight, think of the weather you want tonight.” Marianne said, not even realising her words rhymed or sounded to an outside party like some sort of spell. “Now, you’ve seen what snow looks like? In books and on the television?” Once again Finn nodded, his eyes squeezed shut but his mouth open showing a toothy grin. “Right, now imagine it and  _wish_.”

~

 

By the time the clock hands struck eight, the doorbell had rung twice and Bog opened the door to find a bewildered Plum, her head and shoulders white from snow.

“It’s snowing?!” Bog questioned though clearly, it was, he was simply surprised.

“I know!” Plum said, almost laughing.

“It never snows in Faegrove.”

“No,” Plum whispered, looking up at the sky nostalgically, “not in years.”

Finn came running to the front door, boot laces tied and coat already buttoned up. 

“It worked!” He cried, jumping down the step to catch the falling snowflakes with his hands, “it worked Marianne!” 

“What worked?” Bog asked as Marianne stood beside him in the doorway.

“Marianne made it snow! She said it would if I wished really hard and then she did magic and it snowed!!!” 

Plum, too intoxicated with the soft, white blanket that had begun to settle on the ground simply thanked Bog and led Finn to her car, but not before hugging him tight and telling him she loved him more than all the presents in the world.

Bog and Marianne watched the car pull away as snow continued to cascade down. Bog shivered as the rush of cold finally hit him, but he realised that Marianne did not even have a single goose bump on her bare arms.

He took another look at the sky as a snowflake danced passed his vision and he wondered if his own wish was slowly coming true. 


	5. Chapter 5

December ticked onwards, the countdown to Christmas encroaching slowly and Marianne’s memories had yet to return. 

For the last four days, she and Bog had tried everything suggested in books, films and even questionable google searches to try and provoke traces of her past. 

Some things had surfaced, like her love of hot chocolate but only when vast quantities of milk were added so that the temperature was not so hot, but rather bordering on lukewarm and that her favourite scent was dried orange. 

Bog had taken to working from home the last few days, which Marianne still felt guilty about. She offered to help any way she could, hoovering the carpet which seemed to need the attention, making beds (Bog had offered Marianne his bed while he slept on the sofa, but Marianne refused, she liked how her body sunk into the corduroy fabric of the couch) and washing up every plate and cup that was used under the roof. 

Still, she felt indebted to the man who saved her and felt that there was always something more that she could do. Since Finn’s wish for it to snow, it had been snowing non-stop, schools had already broken up for the holidays, and children eagerly played outside, throwing snowballs and building snowmen. Marianne intended that morning to shovel the snow that covered the path leading from the front door to the pavement outside, but as the snow crunched underneath her red boots, Marianne found herself standing still, a shiver, not from the cold, but from a memory that snaked its way up her spine. 

She recalled the feeling of the cold grass against her cheek, the blankness that sparked inside her head before it enclosed into darkness. Marianne knelt down, her knees just hovering above the blanket of snow. Her hand levitated across the area as if with her fingertips she was trying to feel for something that would allow more memories to flow like the one she just recalled but to no avail.

Still, Marianne thought to herself, at least she could remember lying on the ground. 

It puzzled her greatly when she tried to piece how she came to be in Bog’s back garden. A tall fence separated the back of the garden from the house behind it, and from such a fall she would have caused some sort of injury as below the fence lay a small log pile used for the beautiful Victorian fireplace that kept the living room warm in the evenings.

Marianne looked around the garden, trying once again to think of the endless but possible scenarios that led her to be in this place, in this position. She had been standing still in the garden for quite some time pondering this thought when she realised that snow had settled on her shoulders, head and nose. Shaking off the flakes so they tumbled gracefully to the ground below, Marianne looked upwards at the winter sky. 

“What if I fell?” Marianne caught herself saying out loud but dismissed the idea. How could she have fallen? More so, what from? She highly doubted she was skydiving since she hadn’t been found with a parachute, nor had she fallen from a building, as the nearest building was Bog’s house and if she fell, she would have landed by the back door, not down the garden. 

“Marianne?” Bog called, poking his head out into the garden, he was fiddling with his coat buttons – a challenge in itself as he insisted on wearing the thickest gloves to do so. “You ready to go?” 

“Yes, of course!” She called out, taking a small second to look back to the sky once more before running inside.

~

“I still don’t understand what he is supposed to be.” Plum said, sipping the complimentary tea that was offered to the adults viewing Faegrove School’s Christmas play. “Maybe it’s a unicorn?”

“Was there a unicorn in the nativity?” Bog asked, pouring an orange juice for Marianne before pouring his own. Plum noted the gesture but didn’t utter a word. 

“He isn’t a unicorn,” Marianne interjected, sipping merrily on her juice.

“He isn’t?”

“No, no, he’s a narwhal.”

“A narwhal?” Plum said, feeling silly that she hadn't realised, but then again, the costume was 80% sequins and she didn’t remember those when she watched a narwhal documentary some years back. “Well they are unicorns of the sea, so I was partially close.”

Bog tilted his head to one side, a common trait he showed when he was processing a thought. “I still fail to see how a narwhal can fit into a nativity.”

“You forget,” Plum said, sidestepping to let a frantic looking man pass, “it is a Rock N Roll Nativity.”

The frantic man proceeded to run down the hallway and through a pair of double doors and out of sight, but Marianne couldn’t help but wonder if everything was alright. She could almost taste the tension in the atmosphere, it was as if the parents were more terrified than the children themselves. 

As caregivers filled the hallway that was just outside the hall in which the show would take place, Marianne mooched down to investigate the artwork that was hanging on the walls. Pom-poms, glitter and crayon made up a collage of individual festive artworks. Reindeers with pipe cleaner antlers stood proudly beside painted Christmas trees. A jolly and rather large red circle with a white beard was repeated a lot, and Marianne couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty when she looked at his red cheeks and joyous eyes. Amongst all these pieces, there were drawings done of the children's families, though drawn with extra fingers and no noses, the innocence and love was still there. 

Marianne gently rested her finger against one particular drawing of a small girl with blonde hair, her parents hovering above her protectively. Suddenly, Marianne was overcome with the sensation to cry, to sob right here in a crowded hall in front of people she didn’t know.

For the last few days, Marianne’s mind had been preoccupied with Bog’s constant attempts to keep her company and get her back to where she belonged. But she never realised just how much she missed whatever it was she couldn’t remember. Surely, out there somewhere was her family, perhaps she had a sibling or a pet that missed her in equal measure. She had to have parents – but why hadn’t they come for her? The police put out her information and had even taken her picture that morning she had gone into the station for posters and online leaflets. 

Did they not come because they didn’t love her? What if the reason she was all alone now, was because she was all alone before? 

A tear rolled down her cheek and she swiftly wiped it away when a voice echoed from next to her.

“I always love the children’s drawings, we have a few upcoming artists this year in particular. Which one is yours?” 

“Oh, I didn’t draw any-”

The stranger, a fairly tall woman wearing a sharp suit and a sharper smile laughed, almost mechanically. “No, I meant which child is yours?”

“I don’t have any children.”

“Oh, so who are you here to support?” The woman asked with a raised, inquisitive and intimidating plucked eyebrow. 

“I’m here for Finn.” Marianne replied.

“Finn Pytor?” The woman's expression melted, and she glanced behind Marianne and into the vast crowd. “Does that mean his uncle is here?”

“Bog? Yeah, he’s here.”

The woman’s brow wrinkled, her nose turning up as it did so. “Oh, so you know him then?”

Marianne nodded, “I’m currently living with him.”

She coughed then, which sounded more like a gag, and proceeded to ask Marianne to repeat her last statement, which she did, but slower this time. 

“I thought that he was single?” The woman said, clearly distraught with her arms crossed and glare sharper than before.

“Oh, erm, I presume he is?” Marianne said, uncomfortable and annoyed at this woman’s questioning. There was an itch inside her she couldn’t explain but it grew worse when this woman started speaking about Bog in such a way that was suggestive. Before the woman could pry any more than she already had done, the frantic man from before bounded back through the double doors and over to them.

“Headmistress! Headmistress Finch! We-” The man inhaled quickly, “-we have a problem.”

“What is it?” Finch snapped.

“The electronics, for some reason they won't work, music, lights, sound – all of it, just,” he blew a raspberry and mimed a flat line with his hands.

“For god sake man,” she hissed, “you're supposed to be the IT man.”

“I teach eight-year-olds how to use Word Art, I don’t know how to fix lighting controls.”

“Useless! I’m going to call the company we’ve hired it from, they should be able to send someone over pronto to fix this.”

“They’ll be over pronto in this weather?”

“Shut up Ivan or I’ll fire you for sheer stupidity.” With that Finch marched off, her glare enough to melt the snow that was piling up outside. 

Marianne was left beside the man who looked down at the ground in a deflated manner. “I’m not stupid.” He muttered to himself.

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” Marianne said with a smile. “I just feel like you’ve wound up in a tight predicament and I can very much relate to that.”

The man let out a short and abrupt laugh and looked at Marianne over his glasses. His eyes were small and dark, the outsides rimmed with a pinkish hue. His nose was very mouse-like as every other second it twitched as it to smell the array of scents that littered the hallway. 

“I’m Ivan-Milton Phillip by the way,” He said, stretching out his hand, “or Imp for short.”

“Marianne, just Marianne.”

“Well just Marianne, you wouldn’t happen to know how to fix confusing electronics now, would you?” 

~

“Have you seen Marianne?” Bog asked Plum as they began to take their seats in the hall. Paper decorations hung from the ceiling, stars of all different shapes and sizes – it reminded Bog of that cold night he stood outside in his sister-in-law's garden and made a wish.

“I thought she was with you?” 

“No.” Bog said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice but not succeeding. 

“You look like a meerkat when you look around like that, why don’t you sit down? I’m sure she’ll find us.”

“What if she’s wandered off and hurt herself?”

That got Plum’s attention, these last few days, when she had dropped in to keep an eye on her brother-in-law, she had noticed the small going on's between the two parties, not that they noticed it themselves. 

There was the way they moved around each other as if dancing a silent dance that required utmost precision. It was also in their small, little gestures like she had seen earlier with the orange juice. She had wanted this to happen to Bog, hell, even her sister hadn’t wanted Bog to mope around his whole life after she passed, that was her final wish after all, that Bog could fall in love again.

“She won’t have wandered far, besides she lost only her past memories, not her common sense.”

“But-”

Plum knew why Bog’s commonly deep voice had an edge to it. Ever since Isla visited a doctor and the diagnosis came in, Bog doesn’t like the thought of pain or illness. When Finn had a chest infection, he went to the pharmacy in his lunch break to buy everything from tissues to nasal spray, when all he needed was some rest and chicken soup. Bog couldn’t face losing anyone else he cared about, the fear of it ate away at him sometimes and it was why he had never let himself truly relax. 

Plum knew this and it was why she was so torn on the idea of Bog and Marianne, should it ever come to anything. What if when Marianne’s family came to collect her or when her memories finally returned, that they learn she isn’t the person they thought she was? Or if she is married, has a family of her own, her own children and hell maybe even a pet goldfish. Then she would have to leave, and yes, maybe she wouldn’t be dead, but it would still hurt Bog, perhaps break his heart all over again. 

Bog was still standing when someone called out his name, for a moment his eyes lit up and then they faded back to their original blue shade when he realised it wasn’t Marianne, but rather a shrill, small woman who happily elbowed people out of her way to get to her seat.

“Mother, I didn’t think you were coming.” 

“And miss Finn’s play? No, no, he asked he especially too. Can’t let the little man down.”

Griselda kissed Plum on the cheek and all three took their seats, though Bog was still jittery.

“On the lookout for someone?” His mother asked.

“Me? What? No?” Bog replied, turning into a twelve-year-old under his mother’s questioning. 

His mother made a noise that suggested she didn’t quite believe him and it was then the lights dimmed.

~

“I can’t believe you got it working!” Imp explained in a hushed whisper, patting Marianne on the back.

Marianne couldn’t quite believe it either. She hadn’t thought that this could be the outcome when she followed Imp up the flights of stairs, listening to him explaining what he had tried so far to get it to work. 

She was nervous as he opened the door to the dark room, small in size and largely taken up by a hulk of electronic gizmos. But as soon as she ran her hand along the panelling, she felt a spark inside her brain, as if the wires, buttons and bolts spoke to her in a tongue only she could understand.

Within ten minutes she had managed to get the lights working, the sound to play and even fix the recording equipment. 

“Would you like to stay up here and watch from the show like this? Special seats and all that.” Imp suggested.

Marianne looked out the large glass window that enabled her to look upon the parents who were seated below. From up high she could also see the teachers and children waiting in the wings. She could make out Finn, who waited patiently, a long, twisted horn tied to his forehead. 

She couldn’t see Bog, nor Plum in the sea of heads. She convinced herself that they wouldn’t be mad if she watched the show from here, besides if anything went wrong, Imp would need her again. Better to be up here and fix the problem rather than leaving the stalls in an embarrassing manner.

As she agreed, Imp pulled her out a chair and dimmed the lights – the show was starting. 

~

 

Marianne didn’t know if she had ever seen a play before, but she thoroughly enjoyed this one. The songs were catchy and involved a lot of head banging, in particular, Marianne liked the punk-rock fairy with purple wings and hair that was similar to hers, much better than the Princesses in long, flowing gowns. 

The children acted their hearts out, though it was obvious some had more rhythm than others when it came to group songs. It was nearing the end of the play when a familiar narwhal walked on stage, standing in the centre, directly in front of the microphone. 

Imp pressed the play button and one of the pre-listed tracks began to start playing, its melody floated to Marianne’s ears and she realised that she actually knew this one. She waited, excited to hear how little Finn would sing along to this piece of music, but that excitement turned to fear for the child when she noticed how he looked out at the many faces, his face pale and from even at this height she could see him shaking.

Without thinking, Marianne grabbed the microphone that was connected to the soundboard and knew what she had to do next. 

~

 

Bog recognised the song instantly, an overplayed Christmas cult classic that his boss had sung with power and determination that drunk night in Eliza’s pub.

He could feel Plum tense up beside him, something she also did when it was Finn’s chance to shine, be it plays, sports days or spelling bees. It was clear to see how much Plum loved Finn, her husband Padarn loved him too, and was annoyed he couldn’t make tonight as he was charged with finishing up the Christmas wrapping. Bog made a note to tell her how much of a fantastic mum she was more often. 

Finn’s face scanned the crowds and then he stopped, frozen rigid to the spot. Bog could see the sweat on his little forehead and the panic in his features. The music continued to play and yet Finn stood still, his mouth open a jar but no words coming out.

It was then a voice from above started singing, Bog, along with all the parents looked around for the source of the voice, even Finn was shaken out of his trance. 

That’s when he saw her, in the box high above them, waving at Finn, hand on a microphone. Her voice was like warm honey with a hint of spice mixed in for good measure. Marianne smiled, not even acknowledging the many faces staring up at her, all her attention was on Finn. 

As the bells chimed in the musical interlude, Finn had joined in singing too, his face breaking into a wide smile, his eyes still locked with Marianne’s. Bog rose to his feet and started clapping along to the music, Plum and his mother joining him instantly. 

Had Bog looked around him, he would have noticed other parents getting to their feet, clapping along and letting the joy continue to spread around the school hall. When the song ended, there was an eruption of cheers, whoops and whistles and all the children came on stage for a bow.

As the audience clapped and pleaded for an encore, a reaction the teachers themselves weren’t even expecting, Headmistress Finch burst into the room and demanded to know what they had done.

Imp, who would have once been timid in his employer’s presence simply laughed, commenting that Marianne hadn’t done anything, except save Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Plum, Padarn and Finn's family name is Pytor, taken from the composer; Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky who composed the 'Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy'.


	6. Chapter 6

It was early evening when Bog and Marianne returned home from their outing, Finn had been over the moon and clung to Marianne’s side as they walked back to their respective homes, especially as she was now his new best friend. 

Griselda, who was blown away when realising that the ethereal singing belonged to the woman who was ‘staying’ (emphasised by Plum) with her son. She quickly, if not immediately, fell in love with Marianne, thoroughly interested by the amnesia and suggesting various tricks that could help her to recall memories; like taking vitamins or starting a journal.

Bog’s mother had joined them for a hot beverage before she called a taxi, Bog offered to drive her home, but she declined. As Marianne cleaned up the mugs, she could hear Griselda speaking to Bog in the hallway, commenting on how the house was bare when Christmas was only a few days away. 

“I haven’t had time this year.” Bog said in his defence, but Griselda was having none of it.

“That’s what you’ve been saying for years Bog, having a bit of tinsel up and some lights will make you feel better.”

“I feel just fine.”

“I’m your mother, Bog, you can’t lie to me.”

Marianne could hear Bog’s sigh so clearly that he could have been doing it in her ear.

“Christmas just isn’t the same, never has been.”

“It doesn’t help you spend each Christmas day cooped up inside, you won't even let me visit! Well, at least you won't be lonely this year.”

Marianne stepped away from the sink and edged closer to the hallway door.

“What do you mean?” Marianne heard Bog say, she didn’t have to look to know he had crossed his arms.

“I mean that you will have Marianne here and she certainly seems to love Christmas. She has that twinkle in her eye that Isla used to have when it came to this time of year.”

Bog didn’t say any more, clearly uncomfortable with the topic and Griselda left it at that.

With a tender, affectionate goodbye Griselda disappeared into her taxi, while Bog stood still in the hallway for seconds that melted into minutes.

Marianne could sense Bog’s emotions, if they had been smells they would have floated towards her, the scent stinging her nose and making her want to cry. She felt like she should leave him be, after all, they were strangers, although now they could perhaps pass as friends. 

But Marianne cared for Bog, in the few days she had been living with him she had picked out his habits just as he had identified hers. They were arguably close, and that was why she approached him in the hallway, touching his shoulder and asking if he was alright.

“You heard?” He asked, not turning around.

Marianne nodded then realised he couldn’t see her reaction, “yes” she whispered.

Bog turned then, his eyes glistening, the blue looking like the ice pond that children had begun to skate on as it has frozen over with the ever-dropping temperatures. 

“Isla was my wife,” Bog said, the words tumbling out as if this was a confession he had needed to express. Marianne said nothing and let him continue, “She loved Christmas, you could always rely on her to have a present stashed away for that one person you forgot about, she would bake every Christmas cake under the sun and then give them all away keeping only the bowl for herself. She would have known what to do when you were in the garden.”

“You knew what to do.” 

“I didn’t, not really. I’ve always been hopeless with those sorts of things.” 

“Do you not love Christmas, because Isla loved Christmas?”

Bog looked at Marianne with eyes so wide that tears threatened to fall onto his cheeks. “Yes and no, she wanted me to enjoy it, it was her wish. But things just didn’t feel... jolly without her around. Felt wrong to enjoy myself, felt that way for the last five years.”

“So, her wish didn’t come true?”

Bog found himself being stunned into silence, “I never looked at it that way.”

Marianne smiled up at him, it was tender and understanding in a way neither of them knew how. “I don’t know if I have ever felt what you felt when you lost your wife Bog, all I know is that wishes are important regardless of who made them – be it adult, child, rabbit. If she wanted you to continue living, to embrace the holiday, then you should honour that.”

“In that case... will you help me decorate?”

“Decorate? You mean-”

“I probably don’t have a lot, since I gave most of it to Plum, but I should have a tree at least, may look a little bare without any lights but I am sure I can deal with that.” 

By the early hours of Christmas Eve morning, a tree stood, adding a bit of festive character to the room, though bare, it still felt like an improvement. Bog found an old wreath he had made as an infant and he told stories of each item they found. Marianne listened to Bog as he spoke, his words sounding like those of a seasoned storyteller, each syllable more enchanting than the last. 

When Marianne awoke the next morning, she wrapped the quilted blanket around her and hobbled over to the window to watch the small light flurry outside. As she turned, the bare Christmas tree caught her eye and she knew what she wanted to get Bog as a present. 

She may have lost her memory, but that didn’t mean she had lost her manners. It would have been awful if Bog was letting her stay, especially over the holidays and she did not present him with a gift of thanks.

Scribbling a note on some scrap paper and leaving it on the table in plain view, Marianne pulled on her boots and closed the front door quietly behind her. 

It was early morning, the sun was rising in the sky, its warmth, however, couldn’t penetrate the coldness that the wind whipped up. Marianne didn’t feel the bitter chill as she walked however and simply enjoyed the fresh air. 

As she wandered into a local department store, Marianne couldn’t help but feel spoiled for choice on what to get Bog; tinsel in all colours and shades hung from the hooks, lights coiled up and on display shone overhead and strange dancing toys sang while they danced a merry jig. Eventually, Marianne came to aisles upon aisles of ornaments. They glistened and shone with their golds and reds and Marianne fell in love with each individual one.

But it was a reindeer that completely took her breath away. It was so realistic that Marianne had to check and see if the little thing wasn’t stuffed or simply breathing in tiny breaths. Velvet had been used to replicate the fur and with each tender stroke Marianne imagined this was what petting a real reindeer felt like. She imagined she could feel the warm fur underneath her fingertips and wondered for a moment if these reindeer she was remembering missed her at this precise moment in time, or were they distant memories of a childhood she couldn’t recall. 

What Marianne liked in particular about this ornament was that it had a small, red pompom on the nose which reminded her of the children’s drawings she saw yesterday at the school. As she clutched it, careful as if it was indeed a real miniature reindeer, she thought of her confusion regarding the reindeer cakes – a new memory that felt as if it was forged a lifetime ago. 

She approached the counter and placed the ornament carefully down, while the saleswoman wrapped it, in protective packaging, brown parcel paper and a special bow. Marianne realised that she had no money.

A shot of panic ran through her, but as she put her hands in her pockets, in a dire attempt to find something to exchange the ornament with, she found a crumpled five-pound note that the woman gladly accepted. Marianne made a mental note to repay Plum whenever she could, for the coat she was wearing was hers once upon a time. 

Giddy with anticipation, Marianne pocketed the gift and proceeded to make her way home, thinking all the while of where she could hide it so Bog would not see it until tomorrow morning. After believing she had devised the perfect plan, something caught Marianne’s eye from across the road. She was still a good distance away from Bog’s house, but this road backed onto a hilly landscape, its surrounding area had been left to thrive and grow while houses were built around it. The trees and grass that made up the rolling hills, however, were now coated in snow, but something had caught Marianne’s eye and she was determined to find out what it was. 

Eagerly, she crossed the road and jogged over, there lying semi-embedded in the ground was a piece of metal with a mirror-like surface attached, the sun must have reflected off it and into Marianne’s line of sight. Puzzled, she wiped the snow away to reveal more of the item before picking it up for further analysing. It didn’t look like anything she was familiar with. 

That’s when she realised there were more chunks of this strange item scattered around, some buried in the snow, others sticking out as clear hazard warnings. 

What intrigued Marianne the most was a large shape, which she had originally taken to be a log or fallen tree masked by the snow. As she approached, she had the same sensation rise within her that she felt in Bog’s garden, but nevertheless she pursued forward.

Kneeling down in the snow, Marianne began to wipe, letting her fingers crunch through the cold material until they felt the freezing metal underneath. She continued to wipe, her movements becoming erratic until her breathing caught and she noticed that she was crying. 

A dull pain exploded in her head and her sobs became wilder now, drawing the attention of a dog walker who had been nearby. He rushed over to her now, his canine companion leading the way only to sniff at the suspicious wreckage.

“Ma'am?” He asked, gently touching Marianne on the shoulder. “Ma’am, is, is everything alright?”

Marianne couldn’t see through her tears and couldn’t think clearly as years of memories and recollections washed over her like a fierce tidal wave.

The man, an older gentleman whose beard was beginning to turn grey in random patches knelt down beside Marianne.

“Have you got somewhere you can go dear? Could you tell me your name?”

Marianne sniffed, her voice cracked as she replied to him, her response was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

“Marianne.” She said, “Marianne Claus.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was early afternoon when a small knocking sound came from the front door. Bog almost missed it as the knock itself was shy yet conscientious. 

When he opened the door, he was greeted by a tired looking woman, her loose brown hair falling past her shoulders, a beanie perched on her head which seemed to be in the process of slowly slipping from her scalp. A young girl was with her, perhaps a year or two older than Finn as she was taller but still had that childlike awe about her. 

Bog noted that they the family that lived behind his house, many years ago when he and Isla moved in, they made acquaintances in them, as it is easy to build fences on land with friends, not enemies. Though they rarely spoke, Bog knew that the family owned a dog, the husband taking the pet for regular walks around the hillside area.  

The woman smiled apologetically before she spoke. “Hello, sorry to interrupt you on Christmas Eve-” she began, though Bog felt that she was the one who was being interrupted; taking time out of her busy schedule to make this house call. “But, Millie here believes she saw something and she’s been on at me for days, well, I thought this visit would clear up any confusion.”

Bog blinked in bewilderment then turned his attention to Millie, who seemed unnerved and equally embarrassed by her mother. Instead of talking, she proceeded to fiddle with the end of one of her plaits that peeked out from underneath a woollen hat.

“Millie?” The mother pressed.

Bog took it upon himself to squat down in his doorway so that he didn’t seem as intimidating as he was when at full height. “Millie, what is it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I- I wanted to ask if the woman was alright?”

“The woman?” Bog asked though he had a feeling he knew who she was talking about.

Millie nodded, “The woman who floated down from the sky.”

“F-floated?” Bog repeated to which the mother chimed in.

“Millie believes that she saw someone fall into your garden.”

Annoyed at her mother’s comment, Millie whipped around “She didn’t fall! She floated!”

“Millie,” Bog said getting the girls attention once more, “could you tell me exactly what you saw? What you remember?”

Millie nodded, happy to explain now that she could tell the tale her way and not her mothers.

“It was the 19th of December, I know that for a fact because I had just opened up my advent calendar and doodled in my diary.”

Bog’s stomach knotted, the 19th of December was the day he was awoken in the early hours of the morning, the day he found Marianne. 

Millie continued, “I was up early as I couldn’t sleep-”

“She always gets that way around Christmas time.” Her mother interrupted.

Millie frowned, “Anyway, I looked out my window and saw this shooting star overhead - I didn’t make a wish because I was watching the lady fall. She fell from the sky for only a second and then she started to float. I could tell it was a lady because she looked very beautiful.” Millie added as if for good measure. “Then, as if she knew I was looking at her, she fell, crashing into your garden.”

“What happened next?” Bog asked, his stomach already turning in knots.

“I ran to wake mummy and tell her, who was already awake because of the second crash, but by the time I got her to my bedroom window, the lady was gone and your light was on.”

Millie’s mother put her hands on her child’s shoulders, indicating that this was where the story ended, Millie wanted to know more.

“I know she’s real because I saw her yesterday, standing outside. I thought she was looking at me, but she was looking at the snow, just watching it fall.”

“She is real.” Bog said, which caused Millie’s smile to light up, showing off her crooked teeth. “Her name is Marianne and I did find her in my garden.”

Millie whispered in a voice so quiet that even her own mother couldn’t hear her next question. “Is she magic?”

Bog responded, his answer low and quiet too, not too match Millie’s tone, but rather because the answers hadn’t been as clear as they had been before. 

“Maybe.”

~

 

Dawn had watched the sky, like she had been doing for the last week, hoping for any sign of her sister.

Marianne wasn't just her sibling, but her closet friend, someone she could confide in and it upset her greatly that Marianne could not confide in her. That was only how she felt for the first two days, however, after lying in Marianne’s bed, covers pulled over her head she realised that if no one was going to do something about her sister’s disappearance, then it was up to her. 

It was then she confronted the people who ought to be doing something. Her mother was making a small army of gingerbread men, icing their faces and adding gumdrops for buttons when Dawn found her. 

“Has there been any news on Marianne yet?” Dawn asked, cheeks red from spending the morning underneath a pile of blankets.

Her mother looked up nonchalantly, “Your father tells me he is working on it, dear.” 

Dawn was the sugar, sweet icing to Marianne’s more bitter biscuit, in the sense that the two sisters were different. Rebelling was in Marianne’s blood, Dawn knew that much to be true when she saw how her sister reacted to the prospect of marriage and even more so when she saw how happy her sister was when she flew her very own sleigh over them before disappearing.

But since Marianne was missing, Dawn could feel a rebellious streak being born in her as well, and she would not sit idly by, moping under the covers waiting for someone else to do something she could do just as well, if not better, herself.

“Then I shall go speak to him.” Dawn declared, marching out of the room before her mother could even respond.

Her father was the ‘toy shop’, which in itself was not a shop at all since the products that were made there had no intention of being sold. Sunny had once worked here, painting faces on dolls and winding up gears in robots to check they work before he moved to ‘sleigh division’ as an inventor. 

Dawn wrinkled her nose when she spotted Roland, who paced behind her father nodding his head to every syllable that came out his mouth. While she laid in Marianne’s bed, Dawn had a lot of time to reflect. She thought it wasn’t fair for someone who hadn’t worked for the position to simply pop up out of nowhere and claim it. If the position of ‘Santa Claus’ was an open contest, Dawn knew elves far more deserving; Sunny for example who was charismatic, cheery and charming. But even Dawn knew Sunny couldn’t hold a flame to Marianne, for the last year Dawn had noticed how her sister would sneak off, how the pile of dirty, oil stained clothes would be stuffed under the bed and it wasn’t until that night, after Marianne didn’t return home from the skies that Dawn had found her journal, the notes, sketches and plans she had made were astounding and intricate. 

Without hesitation, Dawn marched right up to her father and stopped him mid-stride.

“Any news on Marianne?” She asked forcefully, but very well knew the answer already.

“We have people out there looking.” Her father said, waving his hand as to dismiss her, but Dawn refused to be ignored.

“Who?” She questioned, “If so, why has there been no progress? The first 48 hours are the most crucial.”

“Where did you hear that from?” Her father had asked to which Dawn said detective films. 

“You should have never been allowed to watch films like those, they aren’t what we are about.”

Dawn ignored this comment by her father and focused her attention on Roland instead.

“Shouldn’t you be out there looking? You are supposed to be marrying her soon.”

Roland grimaced, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. “Well, I, err-”

“Roland is very preoccupied, like me, Christmas is fast approaching and there is a lot to get done.” Her father interjected before placing a hand on Dawn’s shoulder which would have normally felt comforting but now was simply patronising. “I know you are worried about your sister, but she is a grown woman, once Christmas is over, we can look for her properly.”

“Properly? You said you already had people looking for her!” 

Santa coughed awkwardly. 

“I did because they are – but I mean, I myself will look, after Christmas.”

It was then and there Dawn had decided to take action into her own hands. She marched out of the toy shop, elves looking up from their sewing machines, their eyes glistening as her boots stomped across the wooden floor.

Within fifteen minutes she had pulled Sunny away from his work desk and slammed Marianne’s journal in front of him.

“Wow! Look at these blueprints, this is really something.”

“Can this help us find her?”

“Us?” Sunny asked, pushing his goggles up onto his head.

Dawn’s shoulder deflated enough for Sunny to notice. “Dawn, I’m not going to dismiss Marianne. You know I’d help you with anything, and she was my friend too, even if she did spend all her time building a sleigh.” Sunny laughed then, “I still can’t believe she did what it takes a whole team of us to do over years, she’s something.”

“She is.” Dawn agreed, “I found this journal under her bed, maybe the sleigh had some gizmo we could track.”

“You watch too many detective movies.”

Dawn pouted, “so I’ve been told.”

Since then, Sunny had been hard at work investigating Marianne’s notes and creating something that he reassured Dawn, would help track Marianne down. As the days came and went, Dawn did her best to take her mind of the worst possible scenarios, and watching the sky had come to be one of these new hobbies. 

It was now Christmas Eve and the North Pole was alive with snowfall and last-minute preparations. It was still only the morning but Dawn felt as if she was running out of time. It was then a small figure appeared in the distance, it took her a few moments, as well as a few shouts of her name, to realise it was Sunny.

“Sunny!” She exclaimed, meeting him halfway, noticing how red his cheeks were and how fast his breathing was. 

“I have finished it!” He panted, “Here!”

From his pocket, he pulled out a compass. The outside was made of a copper-like material, and underneath the needle sat thousands of tiny cogs and wheels, all intricately ticking like mad. What was most surprising, as well as beautiful was that in the centre sat a small stone whose light hurt the corners of Dawn’s eyes the more she stared.

Before she could even ask, Sunny started his explanation. 

“After looking through Marianne’s notes, I came to hypothesise that she did not include anything like a tracking feature, why would she? It would seem her plan was to fly only once, enough to get your father’s attention – it was merely a passion project, not the main goal.”

“The main goal?”

Sunny nodded, “You see, Marianne kept referring to her journal almost like a diary, I, err, actually kind of feel bad for reading it.” Dawn gave Sunny a smile of approval, which was enough for him to continue with his explanation, “anyway, the point I am trying to make is that she had a wish, a desire to be the next ‘Santa Claus’.”

Dawn wasn’t surprised, she saw how heartbroken Marianne had been, her word’s ‘why him?’ echoing in Dawn’s memory. She knew that it wasn’t relating to the proposal of marriage, but rather something else that she had been striving for all her life. Dawn watched and idolised her sister, the way she spoke to elves as equals, fed the reindeer, stood underneath the snow for hours and hours without catching a chill were just a few of the many ways that Dawn knew that Marianne wanted to fully embrace the Christmas magic.

“How does knowing her wish mean we can find her?” Dawn inquired.

“Well,” Sunny smiled, proud of himself, “This is the ingenious part. If the sleigh doesn’t have a tracker, then we will have to make one.”

Dawn crinkled her brow and then realised what he meant. “The compass?”

“Yes, the compass.”

“But... how?”

“Wishing has rules, blowing out candles, crossing your fingers or most infamously wishing on a star. If Marianne was so intent on making her dream come true, then you can bet your mince pies that she wished on a shooting star. That’s where the compass comes in, see that bright light in the middle?”

Dawn glanced down, but the corners of her eyes were still sore from the light's brilliance. 

“That is a part of a shooting star.”

“No way.”

“Yes way, it was a gift from my great-grandfather after his wish was that he could actually hold a magic star. He got his wish, which was this piece of rock, but he also burnt his hands and had to sit a Christmas out as all his fingers were bandaged and sore.”

“So, how does it work?” Dawn asked, taking the compass and holding it in her palm. 

“Well, it works through wishing, here, let me show you.” Sunny took the compass and placed it in his palm so the needle pointed north.  “The best part is, you don’t even have to say the wish out loud, it listens to the strongest one in your heart and goes from there.”

Sunny scrunched up his eyes and breathed out, the compass began to hum, the needle spinning around as a light emitted rising upwards before pointing and aiming at Dawn, the beam shining right between her collar bones. 

Dawn sidestepped, intent on letting the beam pass through her and in the direction to where it was going, but as she moved, so did the beam as if it was following her every movement. 

“Sunny, what did you wish for?” She inquired, her cheeks reddening.

“Oh I- wait, why?” He opened his eyes and noticed the beam pointing at her. His cheeks flushed a hot pink, which spread to his nose. “I er, well, erm...” 

Dawn leant down and kissed him on the cheek, she was well aware of Sunny’s affections and hoped this indicated that she reciprocated them, though she couldn’t focus on those feelings, as her sister was a priority.

“Well,” Sunny said with a grin, “at least we know it works. Give it a try.”

Dawn rested the compass in her hand and listened as the soft hum began to play once more. She wished to find Marianne, to see her safe and well and to bring her home. She slowly opened one eye and saw the beautiful, blue beam rising upwards before shooting off far into the distance. Dawn took a couple of steps before she noticed the problem.

“How are we going to get there?” She panicked, but it would seem Sunny already had that under control.

“The only sleigh we have will be used tonight, if we are quick, we can sneak in and bring it back along with Marianne before anyone will notice.”

Dawn closed the compass and together they sneaked off down the hill and prepared to fly. They were so focused on their mission that they failed to notice someone watching them.

Roland was nearby, concealed by a fir tree, listening in on the entire conversation. How ridiculous, he thought, that Marianne left simply because she wanted to be Santa. If she stayed and married him then she would be Mrs Claus which was pretty much the same thing.

He debated his next move, he should have been with Santa himself, but the old fool was losing touch and probably wouldn’t notice if Roland wasn’t around for a bit. He needed to make sure that Marianne did come back, if she didn’t then that would mean trouble and he highly doubted, now that he knew Dawn loved the little elf, that the younger Claus sister would even consider marrying him. He couldn’t let the stupid elf be the next Santa, not in a million years. No Marianne meant no marriage, no marriage meant no right to be Santa, and no right to be Santa meant no power. 

Roland couldn’t have that.

So, he decided to position himself within the sleigh, a stowaway ready to sweep Marianne off her feet and bring her back home just in time for a Christmas wedding. 

It was such a perfect plan that Roland believed he didn’t need a shooting star to make it come true.


	8. Chapter 8

Warm air with the scent of ale hit Marianne as she walked through the Goblin’s doors. She hadn’t realised the man who found her crying had taken her here. His dog calmly walked up to Chip who refused to move at the presence of a new dog, but when he saw Marianne, he happily wagged his tail and trotted over for a sniff.

“Marianne?” A familiar voice said as it drifted across the bar. Imp was holding a pint, dressed in a festive jumper and his calm expression turned to that of unease when he noticed Marianne’s eyes, red and brimming with tears. “Marianne?” He called again, getting down off his bar stool and marching over, “is everything alright?” 

“Do you know her?” The man with the dog asked, “I found her-”

“Found her?” Imp repeated, brow creasing but before he could answer, a third voice bellowed from across the bar.

Eliza stomped forward to investigate the gathering that was occurring in the doorway of her establishment, but rather than lose her temper she stopped short when she saw  Marianne and her timid, melancholy appearance. 

“Marianne? What...” Eliza scanned around for Bog, "What happened?” 

“Man said he found her.” Imp explained.

“In your garden?” Eliza questioned.

The man looked puzzled. “What? No, I found her while I was walking the dog, by the hillside.”

Eliza nodded in a fashion that suggested she understood, though in truth she was equally confused but it helped to keep a cool, levelled head in these situations. 

“I got my memory back.” Marianne mumbled, the two men stood there exchanging looks of bewilderment but Eliza knew what the throw away comment had meant. 

“Come and sit down.” Eliza instructed with unwavering authority, ushering Marianne to the seat in which she had sat down in when she had first come with Bog. “Thank you,” Eliza said to the man, rubbing his dog’s head who gave a happy bark of approval, “for bringing her here, Marianne will be safe with me. I know the man she’s staying with, she’ll be home shortly.”

The man, who seemed tired by the whole endeavour, smiled, relief that the pressure was taken from his shoulders. After all, it was Christmas Eve, there was always something to be done, and the man knew that his wife was expecting him home any minute now, frustrated as their child, who recently believed she saw a woman fall from the sky, needed both her parents to keep her calm during the Christmas period.

Once he left, dog merrily trotting behind him, Eliza turned her attention to Marianne, who tried her best to conceal her sniffing, but to no avail. She grabbed tissues and slid into the seat opposite her, Imp following close behind. 

“Ivan,” Eliza started sternly, about to explain how she needed some space with the poor girl, but Marianne stepped in. 

“It’s ok, I know Imp.” She said, her voice cracking slightly.

Eliza raised an eyebrow but thought no more of it, Faegrove was a small town, people often bumped into each other. 

“Ok, let’s start from the top.” Eliza said, passing over the tissues which Marianne happily took a handful of, “you got your memories back?”

Marianne nodded, her sadness was almost contagious and even Chip let out a whine. 

“What is it that is upsetting you?” Eliza asked, trying her hardest to not overwhelm her. 

Until that point, Marianne didn’t know – perhaps it was the sudden flood of memories; recollections of growing up with Dawn, snowball fights and baking cookies. Or the realisation of the trail of destruction she left in her wake as she tried to show off, flying into the abyss with a sleigh she had never even tested – her family might think she's dead, which led onto the fact of why they hadn’t found her, because they either thought she had run off, died or didn’t want to be found. 

She kicked herself for not installing a tracking device in the sleigh, not that it would have done any good, the sleigh, which now lay deep in snow on the bottom of a hillside was not fit for purpose and any additional features would have been destroyed. 

But Marianne felt, as she chewed over these thoughts, that the thing that was upsetting her the most, was what she had to return home too. There was no question of it, she _had_ to go back to the North Pole – but this was her first time in the real world, interacting with people she had only seen in screens or in pages of a treasured novel, and meeting the one person she couldn’t bear to be without. 

Her father was marrying her off, giving her away like the toys he handed out every Christmas. She didn’t want to be with some random elf whom she never even connected with, if anything she wanted to be with the man who rescued her, who made her laugh, who looked at her as if she was made out of light. 

She wanted Bog.

Marianne couldn’t stop the second wave of tears as she hunched over and sobbed. 

Imp looked at Eliza with a panicked expression; he was an IT teacher, not a counsellor, he had never been good with dealing with random bouts of crying. 

“There, there.” Eliza offered, taking Marianne’s hand and holding it in her own.

“It’s... it’s Bog-” Marianne managed to say between intakes of breath. She had never been the emotional sort growing up and it surprised her just how much all of this was affecting her. She wanted nothing more than to pull herself together, but every time she thought she was close, Bog would pop into her mind, his tall frame, dark hair and crystal blue eyes and suddenly, she would start sobbing all over again. 

Eliza, however, nodded, telling Imp to fetch some more tissues.

As he left, Eliza turned to Marianne. “My mother, God rest her soul, always said things happen for a reason. Maybe, you falling into Bog’s garden and losing your memory was the world trying to tell you something.”

“I- I don’t know... how I feel.” Marianne explained truthfully. Her heart never felt so heavy yet light at the same time. She felt sick and nauseous about the thought of seeing Bog again and telling him what she now knew, but more than anything she wanted to be in his presence again. 

“Love happens suddenly, it’s dangerous, uncontrollable and surprisingly...” 

Imp handed Eliza a fresh box of tissues, their fingers touched for a brief second, but long enough for Marianne to clock the sparks that ignited in their eyes. 

“Magic.” Eliza finished, a small smile escaping on her lips as Imp cosied up beside her. 

Chip rested his head on Marianne’s lap, looking up at her with his big eyes as if, in his own way, he was telling her that everything will be alright, in the end.

With a deep, heavy sigh, Marianne decided that it was time to head back and tell Bog the truth, even if he thought she was absolutely insane. 

~

The sky was dark by the time Marianne got back – the door was locked but she knew Bog kept a spare key hidden under the potted plant that sat on the doorstep which proudly braced itself in all types of weather conditions. 

Inside the house was empty, darkness spreading to every room. As she took off her shoes and hung up her coat, she stopped suddenly in the hallway feeling overwhelmed, confused and alone. Tears dripped down her cheeks, which she battered away with her sleeve, trying her best to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest. 

Questions after questions raced around her mind; how could she tell Bog who she really was? What if she did tell him and he didn’t believe her? Even if she did tell him, how the hell was she going to get back to the North Pole? No planes fly there, and even if she could get the sleigh up and running again, after perhaps another year, nothing was for certain and she didn’t fancy taking the risk of death. 

Marianne inhaled deeply, letting the air into her lungs before slowly releasing. She pressed her hands against the wall to steady herself, feeling an obscure bulge in her coat pocket. Switching on the hallway light, she pulled out the many layers of packaging and smiled as she remembered the present which she originally left the house for. 

As she switched on the living room light a low glow illuminated the space, Marianne crept towards the bare Christmas tree and nestled the small package inside its branches, hiding it in an area that was difficult to spot, but not impossible to find. 

It was then that the front door slammed shut, the sound jolting Marianne aware of another presence in the house. Cautiously she stepped forward, peering around the corner.

“There you are!” Bog explained, untying the scarf from around his neck. “I was worried- I, there is something we need to talk about.”

Marianne’s stomach flipped, had he figured it out? No... he couldn’t have. 

But he needed to know.

“Yes, there is something we need to talk about.” Marianne said, barely keeping it together. It surprised her just how much she could cry.

“Oh?” Bog said, he stood almost frozen, his coat still hanging off him and scarf dangling onto the floor as he held it in his grip. “Well, would you-”

“My memories came back.” Marianne blurted out.

Bog’s face was almost unreadable, she wasn’t sure if he would be pleased or disheartened to hear this, but he seemed indifferent, his features barely gave anything away, except for the hesitation when he spoke.

“That’s, er, that’s great!” Bog nodded hard as if he was telling not only Marianne but himself too. “No, that is brilliant. Do... Do you remember how you got to be in the garden?” 

He phrased the question in such a way that Marianne realised he must have known something, as if he was sidestepping around all the facts but failed to make it seem unobvious.

Marianne answered truthfully, all of which she could remember. “I was thrown... from a... well, I fell but I don’t remember the rest.”

“Which was it?” Bog queried, his tone sounding unusual. 

“What do you mean?”

“Were you thrown... or did you fall?”

“Both.”

“How... how could it be both?”

“Well, you see... it’s a little hard to explain.” Marianne could feel her palms and the back of her neck begin to sweat, she was nervous, nervous of what Bog was going to say once he knew the truth, or more realistically, if he was going to believe her at all.

“Marianne, I had a little girl come to the door today who swears that she saw you float down from the sky. At first, I thought it was just a little girl’s imagination, she must have seen you fall but still, where did you come from? Were you pushed out of a plane? Are you some kind of daredevil?” 

“I’ve never been in a plane.”

“But then what happened? There must be a logical answer but then recently things haven’t exactly been following a logical pattern.”

“A logical pattern?”

“Marianne, the biggest mystery is how you turned up face down in my garden, but then there have been all these other things that have happened... like the snow. It has never snowed in Faegrove for years, and I am talking literal decades and yet Finn swears that you made it happen. I am inclined to believe that it was a coincidence, but...”

“but what?”

“Are you a weather journalist or something?” 

“A... what?”

“Do you study meteorology, like did you know it would snow and then made it look that way for Finn? Were you doing reports in your helicopter and then you accidentally fell out and no one claimed you because of insurance? I... I don’t know. I want all the answers, Marianne, I want to know who you are because I-” Bog stopped his rant, his cheeks were flushed and he took a moment to swallow. “Because I care, you are my responsibility.”

Marianne inhaled, enough crazy conspiracies, it was now or never.

“I do not study meteorology nor have I ever been in a helicopter. The truth is... more... complicated than anything you might have thought of.”

The two of them stood in the hallway, the only light being the single bulb overhead and the dim glow emitted from the other room. The rest of the house was in darkness and silence, much like the world outside, only littered with the stars that rested in the sky. 

“I live very far away, in fact, I come from a small town, there aren’t many... people there. My father is- well, he runs the err, family business which I wanted to be a part of, desperately, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

“You’re being very vague.” 

“I wish I didn’t have to be.”

Bog stepped forward then, scooping her up into a tight embrace. With his arms wrapped around her, Marianne felt her heart squeeze inside her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers splayed across his back. 

Bog pulled away after a moment, his face close to hers. “You can tell me the truth Marianne, I won’t judge you, I promise.”

Her vision began to blur as she blinked away the stray tears. “I... I just don’t want you to think I'm crazy.”

“Try me.”

She hugged him again then, holding onto him as tight as she could, fearful that knowledge of the truth would mean he would never want to hold her again. 

“My full name is Marianne Claus, I came from the North Pole and I was thrown from a sleigh that I built to impress my father.”

Bog pulled away for a second time, but this time his expression wasn’t one of compassion – it was confusion.

“Claus? What, like Santa Claus?” He joked, but then noticed Marianne’s serious face. “Oh, Marianne, maybe we should get the doctor to look at you again.”

“I thought you would believe me.”

Guilt spread across Bog’s face like wildfire. “Marianne, you say you got your memories back, but they could all still be jumbled, the brain is the most complex organ in the body.”

“Bog, I remember everything – I remember playing with my sister in the snow, I remember feeding the reindeer, the elves-”

“The elves?”

“Yes! Elves are like humans, except their eyes glisten like nothing you have ever seen before and their ears-”

“Their ears are pointy?”

“Yes!”

“Marianne,” Bog said softly, “that is just how elves are drawn on Christmas cards... why don’t we make a trip to the hospital?”

Tears cascaded down Marianne’s cheeks, she had ruined it, ruined whatever this feeling was with Bog because now he looked at her as if he didn’t know her – and he was right, he didn’t know her at all. 

“Why?” Marianne sobbed, “Why don’t you believe me?”

Bog looked as if he wanted to cry too, his hands rested on Marianne’s shoulders as he looked into her eyes. “Marianne, I want to believe you. I want to believe you are this amazing magical person who really is related to Father Christmas, but... I can’t... you see, Isla... she couldn’t remember certain things at the end, or the things she did remember weren’t real. See the brain, it can eat away at itself and-”

A rapid knock sounded on the door, Bog hesitated opening it, but before he could wait another minute, Finn could be heard shouting with glee.

Marianne and Bog ran outside the house, the snowfall was still going, though it had eased up a little. Outside in the street, Plum stood with her husband, who had come to check on Bog after he called them earlier in a frantic state explaining that Marianne had still not returned home after heading out that morning. They were joined by Imp and Eliza, who had also come to check on Marianne. Chip’s tail wagged as he spotted Marianne and Finn ran over, pulling Bog by the coat sleeve. 

“Uncle Bog! Uncle Bog! We just saw it, just now!”

“Saw wha-” 

But before Bog could ask a brilliant beam of light darted across the sky, it reminded Bog of the shooting star he had seen, a memory which felt like an aeon ago. The streaks of light faded into purples and blues which looked identical to the northern lights, but that was impossible, such a phenomenon couldn’t happen here in little Faegrove. 

“Is that... light getting closer?” Plum asked, holding her husband's hand anxiously. The light continued to streak, as if it was darting towards them, then, the light faded away and the once brilliant beam took on a more realistic shape.

Everyone took a step back, afraid of whatever was coming down from the sky. Bog pulled Finn back with him and only Marianne stepped forward, unafraid of what was descending upon them. 

They heard the bells first, a soft jingle that escalated into a full-blown melody. Then the honking of reindeer just before their hooves touched down into the snow, followed by the hulk of the sleigh.

“Oh my god...” Plum whispered as everyone else stared on in shock. 

Two figures clamoured out, followed by a third who seemed reluctant to exit the vehicle.

“Marianne?” A voice called out, which belonged to a young woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

“D... Dawn?” Marianne exclaimed, running forward towards the figure who threw open her arms and the two embraced.

“I missed you so much! I thought... I thought...”

Marianne couldn’t help but cry but at the same time she was Dawn’s big sister and even now she was wiping away her sibling's tears. “Hey... hey, don’t cry.”

“You didn’t come back.” Dawn cried, which resulted in Marianne hugging her tighter.

“I couldn’t, the sleigh caught fire and I fell from it... I couldn’t remember a thing; who I was or where I came from.”

“Amnesia?!”

Marianne nodded, “But... how did you even find me? I didn’t put in-”

“A tracking device? Yeah, I know. Maybe think about adding one for next time yeah?” Dawn teased, trying her best to wipe away the tears. She pulled away and opened her palm to reveal the compass. “Sunny made it, it’s made with a shooting star, I wished on it to find you.”

“That's... pure genius.” 

Marianne felt someone beside her and she turned to see Finn, gazing upwards, his eyes full of wonder. Looking over her shoulder, she could see the others had come forward too, Marianne’s eyes floated over to Bog who looked as if he was still trying to process, logically, what had happened before his eyes.

“Dawn, this is Finn.”

Dawn smiled her beautiful smile, tilting her head to the side as she did so. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Finn, did you look after my sister while she stayed here?”

Finn shook his head, “No, my uncle did.”

Bog had come forward, hesitantly at first eyeing the reindeer and the sleigh. 

“Are you Mr Finn’s uncle?” Dawn asked, outstretching her hand. “If so, thank you for looking after Marianne. I am indebted to you, I really am.” Dawn turned back to her sister, “It’s time for us to go.”

“Go?” Bog managed to say and from behind Dawn, the two additional figures came forward.

Bog couldn’t believe Marianne’s descriptions had been so accurate. One elf was small, his elongated ears easy to spot as well as his eyes in the gloom, the other was handsome with eyes like the purest of emeralds, which Bog couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about. 

“We don’t have long,” the small elf explained, “we borrowed the sleigh, we need to return it as soon as possible.” 

“It wouldn’t have taken so long if you let me drive it.” The tall elf remarked with a pout, and Bog realised his hands were tied behind his back, which explained his weird stance. 

“I can’t believe you took dad’s sleigh!” Marianne said, shocked but still letting a smile fall onto her lips.

“Dad’s sleigh?” Finn asked, looking up at Marianne as if he knew all along there was something special about her.

“We are the Claus’s;" Dawn explained, "our father is  _the_  Santa Claus.”

Finn’s expression lit up like a Christmas tree but then it faltered as if he was realising the consequences of finding out this information. “Does that mean Marianne really has to go?”

Dawn looked to Marianne and then looked back to Finn, she smiled, but this time the gesture was apologetic, not happy. 

“I’m sorry Mr Finn, but Marianne needs to come home.”

“But, but, what if she likes it here?”

Marianne’s gut twisted as she looked at Finn, she knelt down beside him, and took his hands in hers. “I like it here Finn, I really do. But I need to go home, there are things I need to do, I need to see my family.”

“And we need to get married!” The tall elf exclaimed, which responded a foul look from both the smaller elf and Marianne’s sister. Bog felt his heart sink as he heard those words, but he noticed Marianne’s sheer annoyance. 

“We will not be getting married, Roland.”

“But-”

“But nothing, when we get back, there will be no wedding. That is final. No one and I repeat no one will force me to do anything I don’t want to do. In regards to the position, I will continue to work for it, I suggest you do the same.”

Roland looked pained, his skin turning as white as the snow he stood on, and a moment later he hobbled back to the sleigh, in tears. 

“But if you leave,” Finn whispered to Marianne, “then my wish won’t come true.”

“Do you mean your first wish?” Marianne asked, remembering that making it snow had been his second desire. 

Finn nodded, “I wished to see my uncle happy, but if you go, it won't come true.”

“Finn...” Plum called out, her voice catching as she listened to what her son had wanted more than all the presents in the world.

Marianne hugged Finn tight, “I’m sorry that the wish didn’t come true, but maybe it’s not me, maybe Bog just needed a... friend. Will you look after him for me? Will you make sure he decorates his house and covers every inch of his Christmas tree with tinsel and lights?”

Finn nodded, accepting the responsibility. Marianne knew that time was against them, but she had never had to say goodbye before – this was the hardest thing she had ever had to do.

She took a step towards Bog, who in turn took a step towards her.

The snow danced around the pair as they stood, waiting for the first to speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Marianne.” Bog said, “I thought, I couldn’t...”

“It’s alright, I understand.”

“No, but, I should of-”

Marianne put a finger to his lips, the last thing she wanted was for Bog to blame himself for the rest of his days. She wanted, more than anything, for him to be happy, even if that meant without her. 

“I’m glad I fell into your garden.” Marianne said with a sad smile.

She flung her arms around Bog as the others retreated back into the sleigh, preparing to fly off to the North Pole. Marianne pulled away slightly, regretting leaving Bog’s touch – his face was near hers, just like it had been in the hallway. 

She looked into his eyes and felt her heart flutter if she stayed a second longer, she knew she would never leave.

“Goodbye Bog.”

Breaking away entirely, Marianne turned and headed for the sleigh, her heart breaking with each step she took.

“Marianne! Wait!”

She spun, seeing Bog struggling for words.

“I- I... Goodbye Marianne.”

The words she had wanted him to say were never spoken, she mumbled another goodbye and climbed into the sleigh. With the chime of the bells and sound of hoofs against snow, the sleigh took off, into the night sky as if it was a shooting star.

~

Bog’s alarm beeped in rapid succession, but as he hit the cancel button, he stayed where he was, lying between the sheets thinking how empty the house felt without Marianne.

He missed her the moment she turned away from him, and like a fool, he didn’t tell her the truth – about how he felt. Not that he could make her stay, it wasn’t fair – she had her life and he had his. 

Life isn’t kind all the time. 

He got ready for the day quickly, brushing his teeth but forgoing his hair – it wasn’t like he had anyone to impress. It wasn’t until he caught sight of the bare Christmas tree that Bog remembered that today was Christmas day, a day for family, for loved ones.

That was when he noticed something odd nestled in amongst the branches, he reached in and pulled it out, surprised to find it packaged so neatly. Sitting on the sofa Marianne had spent her nights, he slowly undid the cello tape and bow, peeling them away gently, unwrapping the brown parcel paper and making sure not to rip a single inch of it. 

Bog smiled as he held up the contents of the gift and he knew instantly who it was from. 

Delicately, he hung it on the bare tree, letting the reindeer sway as it adjusted to its new home. Then, he reached for the phone, calling the people he needed most.

 

~

Plum, Padarn and Finn had arrived with boxes of decorations, they had organised the contents even before Bog had phoned. There were several trips to the car involved, as Plum demanded that dinner would be brought over there. Finn and Bog were in fits of laughter watching Padarn struggle up the walkway balancing a turkey in one hand and a box of lights in the other. 

Eliza turned up with Chip who merrily munched on a bone that had been brought by Imp, who introduced himself to Bog. Finn was surprisingly excited to see one of his teachers outside school and even, over dinner, pulled several crackers with him. Even Griselda, who was upset to learn that Marianne had gone, had a pleasant time. 

Later on, Thomas and his wife Stephanie turned up, bringing sweet treats and beverages for the adults. 

As night fell, the house was brimming with laughter – tinsel and lights were hung from every nook and cranny, the tree had been decorated but the reindeer ornament still had pride of place, and plates were stacked up in the sink where they would wait until the next morning as everyone was having too much fun to worry about the trivial issue of washing up. 

A Christmas classic was playing away to itself on the TV as the friends and family perched themselves on the sofa, Finn had curled up into Bog’s lap and was fast asleep – his Spiderman mask, gifted by the big man himself was still attached to his face. Snow continued to fall, but it was easing up now as another wish had just come true; Bog’s - as he had learnt, thanks to Marianne – how to love Christmas like he used too. 

The others had fallen asleep too, and like the days when Isla hosted Christmas, Bog tucked them in where they lay, individually thanking them for being there for him. He looked at the clock and realised Christmas Day was coming to an end. It was then he heard the faint flitter of bells. 

Thinking he had been mistaken, Bog threw on his coat and grabbed his keys, stuffing them into his pocket before he opened his front door. 

A familiar face stood just outside, her smile warming up the coldness of the night. 

“Merry Christmas Bog King.” Marianne said.

Bog ran to her, sweeping her up in one swoop. He wouldn’t let himself lose the chance to tell her how he felt, not again – she was here, right here, right now and nothing else in the world mattered. 

His fingers ran through her hair as he pulled her close, Marianne's smile melting away as their lips met. 

They kissed as the snow whirled around them, just like it would do for many winters to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!


End file.
